


It's just a nightmare, my love

by WillaHolmes38



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Prostitution, Jealous John, John Loves Sherlock, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Paternal Lestrade, Pining Sherlock, Possessive Behavior, Protective John, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock in Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:29:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 107,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillaHolmes38/pseuds/WillaHolmes38
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finally realizes he's in love with John but he's afraid that it's  an unreciprocated feeling. When he's starting to come to terms with his true feelings and wants to give it a try, a ghost from his past comes back to haunt him. Will there still be hope for the two men when John learns about Sherlock's past? Is he actually going to leave Mary to fight for his one true love? Can John actually save Sherlock from his past demons? Or will everything be lost in a spiraling nightmare that will never end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Without you I'm nothing, with you I'm something but together we're everything…”_

 

 

 

Sherlock woke up from his nightmare. He couldn’t remember what he had seen in his dream but he could remember it was about John. John being hurt… John being killed… John being tortured and him just standing there unable to do anything. These last two weeks ever since John left for his honeymoon with his now wife Mary, he was haunted by these dreams and he couldn’t tell why. He couldn’t understand the meaning of these nightmares but what he did comprehend was that no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get any sleep. So, most evenings, he was just sitting in John’s old armchair, holding his violin and composing sad songs.

Everyone had noticed the change in Sherlock’s behavior but none seemed to know what was wrong with him. Not even Sherlock himself could understand what was happening to him. He was actually pining over John. But why? There was no possible explanation for that… he knew all well that John was his best friend and he cared about him deeply but that was it. Nothing more. And that didn’t justify the great longing the detective felt for John especially now that he knew he was fine and happy with the woman he loved.

Sherlock sighed and got out of bed. He walked to the kitchen and drank a glass of cold water. He so wanted to call John. But he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the couple. Should he text him then? Sherlock shook his head violently. What in the name of God was he thinking? He was acting like a bloody wife who was missing her husband who was off to a trip or something. And suddenly the realization hit him hard. He was in love with John. Deeply, madly, hopelessly in love.

Sherlock slid to the floor as shock came with the realization and it was the first time in his life that he wished for ignorance. He was better when he didn’t know his feelings. Now what he felt was pure desperation. There was nothing he could do because John was NOT GAY and he was currently spending his honeymoon with the woman he loved, completely ignorant about his friend’s feelings.

There was a high noise from his bedroom. A text alert, he realized. He got up and approached his bed where his mobile phone was buried under the sheet. Sherlock picked up the device and looked at the shining screen where he saw he had a new text:

**New text from: JOHN WATSON**

Hey, you awake? How are you?

Sherlock’s heart beat faster in his chest and he allowed a light smile to appear in his face and he hurried to reply.

_Yes. I’m fine. How are you doing? Is everything okay? I miss you…_

The detective looked at the text in disbelief. Of course he couldn’t send that to John. There was always a chance Mary would see it and besides he didn’t know how John might react. He could get mad and never talk to him again. He sighed deeply and deleted the text, quickly tying a new one.

_I’m awake, just doing an experiment. I am fine, how are you and Mary? Is everything okay? -SH_

He pressed sent and he looked at the time on the screen. It was past four in the morning. What was John doing awake at this hour? Usually he would be asleep, or listening to Sherlock playing his violin, because he couldn’t sleep, without complaining. Sherlock tossed his phone aggressively back in his bed. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep again so he might as well do an experiment for real. He had a human head still at the fridge, provided from his dear pathologist, and he hadn’t finished the coagulation of saliva. After John seemed to be so disturbed by it the last time, he just put it away and forgot the whole thing. But now John wasn’t here, he reminded himself and headed for the kitchen again.

He picked the human head and smiled at it while carrying it back at the table where the whole lab set was placed. He checked his phone once again to find a new message from John. He calmed himself down and promptly began reading it.

Yeah, we’re good. Everything’s fine. I just couldn’t sleep and was hoping maybe you’d be awake and in a mood for a chat. Haven’t properly talked to you since the wedding.

_Yes, thanks for the reminder_ , he said to himself bitterly. John hadn’t made one decent try to contact him and well, it just wasn’t in Sherlock’s nature to ever run behind anyone. If John really wanted to talk to him, he would find the time. No one’s that busy, it was only a matter of priorities. For example, Sherlock always made sure that he had some free time during the day in case John might want to come around the flat or spend some time with him. Of course John hadn’t tried to communicate with him at all. Not that he minded, of course. If he didn’t want him once, then Sherlock didn’t want him a hundred times. But he very well knew that wasn’t true.

_Good. So you’re having a good time with Mary, I take it. Why can’t you sleep? –SH_

The detective returned his attention back to the head positioned in front of him, watching him with its lifeless eyes. And yet, Sherlock felt a chill running down his back. As if the head was silently watching him, judging him. The detective frowned but quickly shook it off thinking he was overreacting. His phone alerted him again that he had a new text.

I don’t know. Okay… actually things with me and Mary aren’t that good. I mean, Jesus we’ve only been married for two months, we can’t have that many problems. But still… it just doesn’t feel right.

Sherlock read the text again and again not sure if he was misunderstanding things but John was telling him that he wasn’t having a good time on his honeymoon with his new wife! The young man could feel his heart ready to jump out of his chest. But then he stopped and scowled at himself. John was his friend and he had a problem. He couldn’t sleep because of it and there was Sherlock being all happy about it. No, he was obviously mistaken. John and Mary would work it out, whatever their problem was. Sherlock forced his heart to beat normally again as he typed his reply.

_I’m sure you’ll work things out, don’t worry. Mary loves you and you love her, so you’ll be fine… Is there anything I can do to help? –SH_

He sighed again and he suddenly felt very tired as a strong desire to go and sleep kept nagging his head.

We’ll be back sooner than expected. That is next Monday.

Sherlock stared with wide eyes at the text. John was coming in less than a week. He was coming back! He would come back in London in five days! The detective forced himself to calm down, dismissing it as something unimportant but he couldn’t control his hear that seemed all too eager to actually rip his chest and jump out and run to John. It was then that Sherlock knew he was really screwed. Because not only John didn’t and would never ever return his feelings, but also because if he ever found out about Sherlock’s unrequited love, he would definitely leave forever and Sherlock would never see him again. Just the thought made Sherlock week on his knees. No, it was fine, it was all okay. He would just have to keep it a secret. John would come back and everything would be normal and he would never have to find out about the detective’s true feelings. And then…

I wanna see you. I must talk to you… I’ve missed you.

Sherlock took a deep breath. What did that mean? Was there a hope for the two of them? The door bell interrupted his track of thoughts. Who could it possibly be at four thirty in the morning? Sherlock stood up and walked to the door to his flat. He slowly descended the stairs wrapped only in his blue dressing gown. The bell kept ringing insistent and for a second Sherlock was worried that Mrs. Hudson would wake up and then it would be a right hell for whoever was in the door. He opened the door and got ready to start a tantrum. But as soon as his brain registered what his eyes saw, he remained frozen at his spot.

In front of him stood a ghost. A man from the past. A dead man, yet so alive that Sherlock would swear he was dreaming. A tall, muscular man with dark blonde hair nicely cut and a California tan was standing in the doorway. He was smiling, revealing white, shining teeth and bright hazel eyes that looked straight into Sherlock. The man looked like he had gotten out of one of those Hollywood movies with the protagonist good looking guy, always having his way in the end. Memories flooded Sherlock’s mind. Memories of a much younger himself, being held down in bed with a strong body pressed on him.

_\- I used to hold you like that… Does watching them make you miss me? I’ll bet it does. You can’t really mind me bothering you again, can you? Come on, Lock. You love me. Don’t act like you never did. I was the first person you ever said it to... Because you wanted me to stop. Because you thought you could make me say sorry. But it didn’t work, did it? Can you remember how I looked at you, Lock? Like you were a worm, as if you were the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen. Love doesn’t suit you. It never will..._

He gasped and closed his eyes tightly desperately trying to block the memories. The tall figure took a step towards Sherlock and the detective involuntary flinched away. The man seemed amused by the reaction but not in the slightest bit intimidated. He took one big step, until he was standing directly in front of the detective and he wrapped his long arms around the slender waist of Sherlock and rubbed their bodies together. Sherlock stood still, unable to move or talk. The muscular man brought his face down to Sherlock all the while watching him and firmly pressed their lips together. Sherlock didn’t kiss back but didn’t pull away either. The other didn’t mind. Sherlock kept his sparkling silver-blue eyes on the slightly taller man as he lowered his head and brushed his lips on Sherlock’s ear whispering:

“Hello, my beloved. Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kind comments motivated me to write some more. It was very difficult for me to write that chapter and I used some help from the internet from some graphic descriptions. We now get to know more about the creepy man. All I can tell is that he is really evil. This chapter is a bit longer and it contains rape/non con. Please read the tags. You have been warned.

Sherlock stood frozen. He couldn’t believe in his eyes. A small part of his brain insisted that he was actually dreaming and the sight in front of him wasn’t real. A more rational part though kept telling him that this was real. This was actually happening. The slightly taller man standing directly in front of him hadn’t stop smiling. He arched his left eyebrow at the lack of answer at Sherlock’s part as the detective couldn’t bring himself to move or say anything. A small sigh escaped the blonde man.

“But then again, I suppose I don’t really need an invitation, do I? No. I’ll just come in for a nice little chat. Maybe we can dig up some of our memories. We had quite the nice memories, didn’t we?”

He took a step closer and brought up his right palm and cupped Sherlock’s cheek. The younger man flinched violently and stared with pure surprise and fear at the blonde. It was obvious that he was pretty shaken.

“Garth… what? What are you doing here…? How…?” he soon found out he couldn’t finish any of his sentences.  

“Come on, let’s go upstairs. There’s no need to stay here in the doorway”.

Sherlock hesitated. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening and he realized that he was going into shock. He quickly catalogued the symptoms. A slight pain in his chest, rapid, shallow breathing, a weakened pulse and dizziness were apparent so far. He didn’t want to admit it but he was really vulnerable at this moment. He felt naked in front of this man who hadn’t stopped watching him like a hawk from the moment he let his eyes on him.

Garth didn’t seem offended at the lack of response. He grabbed Sherlock’s arm and closed the door behind them. The other man remained silent but now his eyes were studying the taller one. He allowed Garth to drag him upstairs into his living room, being as quiet as possible. First, he didn’t want to wake up Mrs. Hudson and second, memories began to flood his mind and for an instant he felt a feeling that was very akin to fear. He was alone; John wasn’t there to help him anymore. And he knew for a fact that if things got out of hand, he wouldn’t be able to fight Garth off, going by his previous experiences with him. The man just wouldn’t take no for an answer.  

“Come on, kitten” Garth said still smiling and sat Sherlock down to the couch before sitting right next to him. He lifted his hand again and gently caressed Sherlock’s cheekbone, the other man shutting his eyes immediately.

“Don’t” was all he said as he abruptly pushed Garth away.

No, he wasn’t gonna take this. Not this time. He wasn’t the naïve, weak teenager he used to be when he had first met Garth. He could take care of himself now and he would keep the older man as far as possible from his life. Garth was nothing, he didn’t matter to him anymore. His heart only belonged to John. _John._ Whose name sounded like a blessing to Sherlock’s ears. Whose smile was like a dry land to a drown man. Whose touch was gentle and comforting. Whose text had yet to reply! Suddenly Sherlock felt a weird, disagreeable sensation. What if John thought that he was mad at this display of sentiment? What if he didn’t know how much Sherlock missed him as well? Oh, how he longed to kick Garth out and curl up at his bed and text to John for the rest of the night. But he knew better than that. A loud cough interrupted his thoughts and his attention was once again back to the man sitting right next to him.

“What’s the matter, kitten?” Garth cooed and came closer stepping into Sherlock’s very personal space.

Kitten… oh, the memories that came with this pet name.

_A seventeen year old Sherlock pressed his chest against the wall, closing his eyes tightly even as teasing fingers slowly trailed down his spine. His back arched away from the touch, pressing his front to the wall, fingers digging into yielding metal that groaned under pressure and muffed his own pathetic whines. The fingers pressed against the top of his waist and then slowly ran back up his naked back and despite his efforts, Sherlock moaned. He was a prisoner to that touch, his unwillingness to shove the offender away, the guilty pleasure every touch brought him were proofs of his entrapment._

_Warm breath against his cheek made his eyes snap open, but he didn’t dare to look. He fixated his eyes on the wall, this disgusting wall that offered comfort and secrecy to his basest desires, even as the breath began to slip down to his long, swan-like neck and remained there for awhile. Another throaty, deep groan escaped through Sherlock’s perfect lips as he felt the faintest press of a kiss to his throat, then down to his shoulder, where a painful nip made him twitch and press his fingers deeper into the wall._

_As the first hand slowly walked up his spine, the other gripped his hip, on a vice grip until Sherlock felt bruises forming, gliding down his thigh. The insistent hand moved and touched his cock, which stubbornly refused to be stimulated no matter how much Sherlock mentally pleaded it to, only for a second and then dropped to the side. Sherlock sighed in relief. He chanced a look over his shoulder, for a second catching the kind smile on his partner’s face. It only lasted a second though because the hand came back and grasped his limp member, tugging forcefully, making him whimper in pain. He hissed and hit his head against the wall with a loud clang._

_“Now, now…” that silky voice rushed over Sherlock like a wave of burning, dark water. “Shh, Sherl, or I’ll get mad” Garth pointed out with one of his fingers circling the thin man’s entrance. “I just need to get you all hard and wet. Just a t little more and then you’ll be ready for me”._

_Sherlock groaned in despair._

_“S-stop, Garth… it hurts. I don’t…” Sherlock inhaled deeply, cutting off his own words as the first hand began tugged his penis violently. The blonde man smiled mischievously as his other hand left Sherlock’s backside and he wrapped it around his creamy neck._

_“Make me” Garth whispered and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s trembling lips._

_Sherlock panted and tried to shove the taller man off his back. Garth was surprised but really muscular and he pressed his body on the younger boy harder. He reached his zip and undid his trousers, tossing them away. His pants followed quickly afterwards. He rubbed his erect cock to Sherlock’s arse eliciting a sob._

_“Stop it. Please... just stop it” Sherlock chocked._

_“Why? You want this. You want ME. You enjoy our interactions… you love me, don’t you, kitten? You can still be a good boy and a respectable son. What’s it to your family who you spread your legs for?” Garth asked and spit to his hand._

_Sherlock’s shaking increased when he felt the wet finger pushing against his entrance. He bit his lip hard in order not to yell. He knew it wouldn’t matter anyway. Garth would have his way with him. The best he could do was go with it. Besides, Garth was his boyfriend. He loved him, didn’t he? So why couldn’t he understand that he was hurting Sherlock? The finger was now inside of him moving slowly in and out. Soon a second finger followed, scissoring him open._

_Sherlock wanted to resist. Oh, how he wanted to resist. But he loved Garth dearly and he didn’t like it when he made him mad. He always wanted his boyfriend to be happy and pleased with him. It was his job and his duty to keep his partner satisfied anyway. Otherwise Garth could leave him and then he would be all alone because, who else would ever love him?_

_So he didn’t say anything when the fingers were removed. Nor did he pull away when the other’s big cock was pushed roughly inside of him and Garth began to fuck him fast and hard against the wall. All he did was bite his lip until he could feel blood and didn’t make a sound as the older boy panted and moaned in his ear and moved his hips faster and with more force._

_“So tight… ugh, that’s it, kitten…”_

The pain, the shock, the tiny bit pleasure… they were all there. He was reminded of everything and he felt moisture building behind his closed eyes. He came back to present feeling warm, insistent lips on his own. Startled he opened his eyes to find that Garth had taken off his coat and was now practically on top on him, kissing him. And he felt so good after all this time he had neglected his body… but no, this was wrong, this was a terrible mistake.

He pulled back and shoved the muscular body off of him and jumped out of the couch. Wild eyes locked with amused ones as Garth stayed in his position on the couch still. They studied one another for a few more minutes before the detective grew impatient and very disturbed by this evolution.

“Why?” was all he said.

The older man arched his eyebrows questioningly.

“Why come? Why come to me now after all these years?” the detective explained. And then a more silent “What do you want?”

Garth smiled and got up approaching Sherlock.

“I missed you” he said simply. “I want you” he added and leaned to kiss Sherlock again.

But the other man was having none of that. He angrily pushed Garth and tried to create as much distance as possible between them. He’d been hurt in the past and he wasn’t gonna make the same fatal mistake again. He started pacing with his head bowed, silver-blue eyes not leaving the carpet for a second. Garth took a deep breath and stood in front of Sherlock forcing him to stop pacing and grabbed both of his wrists in his hands making the detective to look at him.

“You know, Sherl, sometimes, the only reason why you won't let go of what's making you sad is because it was the only thing that made you happy”. The blonde man rubbed Sherlock’s wrists gently and matched the other man’s body language.

“I don’t belong to you anymore” Sherlock spat and released his wrists.

“No. But you did once. And you were happy. Did you miss me as much as I missed you? It must’ve been lonely” he said to the detective’s ear and circled him like a predator.

“Not a bit” Sherlock hissed in sudden venomous anger. “What should I have missed? All the pain? The abuse? The humiliation? The drugs or maybe your…” he stopped and gulped. “Your equally cruel friends?” he was rather annoyed with himself as he felt tears to his eyes. He hurried to blink them many times in order to make them disappear.

Garth landed full circle back to his place and smiled evilly.

“You always liked the kinky stuff, kitten. You have loved the drugs way more than I did. You were begging my friends… and I do recall you claiming that the pain felt… oddly okay”.

“You son of a bitch” Sherlock screamed losing his patience. “I was begging them to leave me alone. To stop… to stop… doing this to me. I was being raped while you stood there and pleasured yourself while they…” he was shaking like a leaf now. His breath was coming out short and rapid. He couldn’t breathe and his knees suddenly couldn’t support him.    

Garth shook his head and caught Sherlock before he sank to the floor. He wrapped his hands around the other’s slender waist and supported him. He casted a look around and promptly moved them both to what appeared to him was Sherlock’s bedroom.

“No” chocked Sherlock who was fighting to breathe normal. “Don’t touch me” he tried to scream but found he couldn’t.

“Shh, it’s okay” Garth said as he gently lowered Sherlock to his bed. The detective tried to roll away but the taller man grasped him by his hip, pulling him forward and crushing their lips together.

The younger man shook violently underneath him as Garth carefully straddled him. He began stripping the detective while he kissed every part of the ivory skin that was revealed to him. Sherlock tried to fight, to resist but he realized that he was having a panic attack and there were not much he could do. The man above him had sufficiently tore Sherlock’s dressing gown and was now running his hands hungrily over the detective’s exposed torso. Underneath the dressing gown Sherlock was only wearing a pair of black pants. Garth kissed the young man’s collarbone and caressed his neck. Sherlock mewled pathetically when he felt his pants coming out leaving him exposed and vulnerable, at this man’s disposal.

Gareth took a moment to see the sight that lay in front of him and hummed to himself in satisfaction. In all his life he had been with many whores but never once had he met a man as beautiful as Sherlock. He run his hand tough the dark curls marveling at how soft they were and he watched appreciatively as Sherlock tried to get away from him. He leaned over covering the slender form and began kissing the creamy skin. Sherlock chocked a sob as he tried in vain to push him away.  

“Please” he begged weakly.

He trembled at every touch and he made Garth’s mouth water. He could never deny his attraction for this man and he stood only for a second to remove his clothes and then he went back on top of the detective who tried to punch him. Sherlock’s whole body went limp when he felt a hand wrapping around his limp member and this time he didn’t try to hide his sob. He was crying freely now, hot tears running down his cheeks as he stopped fighting immediately, the all too familiar feeling overwhelming him.        

“London’s beautiful. But not nearly as beautiful as you, my darling” Garth whispered as he retrieve a bottle of lube and a condom from the pocket of his trousers. “You are mine and I want to claim you as such. I’m your only friend, remember? The only one who could ever love you. You didn’t find anyone when we were apart, did you? No, I know you didn’t. That’s because I’m the one for you. I’m the only one who tolerates and loves you, you know that, right?”

Garth had already put on a condom and gotten the lubricant gel in his hand. He popped the tube open and squirted a gob of it into his fingers before leaning forward slightly and pressing two digits into Sherlock’s body preparing him.

 _“ **Right**?” _ he sneered and twisted his fingers inside of Sherlock.

“Yes” cried the young man who was unable to stop shaking.

“Good, kitten” Garth smiled. It was a smile that Sherlock would have thought was tender, affectionate if he didn’t know better.

But Garth was right. He didn’t have any other relationships after Garth. He couldn’t find anyone who would love him like Garth did. It was true, he was just being ungrateful. He took a deep breath and tried to make himself relax in order to at least reduce the pain that was about to come.

“That’s it,” Garth encouraged, clasping Sherlock’s left hand in his free one and rubbing his thumb gently across the bony knuckles.“Oh god…” he continued to prepare Sherlock enthusiastically, his penis growing more and more erect by the time, as he managed three and then four fingers inside both sphincters, knowing anything less wouldn’t quite be enough for what was to come. “That’s good,” Gareth interrupted his ministrations and slicked himself up.

“You’ve done so well,” he said with a smile, petting Sherlock’s hair back behind his ear and stroking a hand down his chest, before pressing a light kiss to the man’s lips. “So, so, well”. Sherlock grimaced as the wonderful and sweet words were followed up with his legs being pushed up and out of the way, pressed into his chest before his knees were hooked over Garth’s shoulders and he was entered.

Garth started building up a fast rhythm. He kept pounding in Sherlock and didn’t even try to suppress his moans. Despite the preparation, Sherlock whined in pain as the older man fucked him deep into the mattress. Suddenly he drove his cock deep into the man’s unsuspecting arse with brutal force. Sherlock screamed. His voice hard and his body stiffening as he writhed under the man’s sharp thrusts. Garth could feel the ripping flesh and the blood, knowing that even the time he took to prepare Sherlock for the intrusion wasn’t enough. Sherlock tried to push him off but the other man grabbed his wrists and pinned them down forcefully to the bed as he kept fucking Sherlock hard.

The assault continued. Garth setting a brutal pace that left Sherlock’s body jarred into the bed, tears poured down his face and onto the bed, wetting the duvet until Sherlock was lying in a puddle of his own tears. The older man didn’t make any move to stop. “So tight, so fucking good. Tell me you like it” Garth shouted down at the sobbing man who nodded his head, as he begged for reprieve over and over. “Say it!”

“I like it!” Sherlock screamed back desperately.

“My poor kitten” Garth cooed, careful not to give the other man any pleasure. “Why do you cry every time we do this?” he said brushing Sherlock’s prostate for only a second making the other one mewl. “Tell me you love my cock” every word accompanied a thrust.

“I do” said Sherlock sobbing loudly. “I love your cock”.

Garth’s orgasm hit him hard as Sherlock said these words; spilling deep into the man’s torn up arse. Stumbling back he wiped his brow with his sleeve and panted, taking in the sight before him. Sherlock’s legs had instantly collapsed back to the bed, his body quaking, and blood running across his ass and down his pale splayed out legs. Tears covered his face, and he could see the bile he’d vomited up on the floor.

Garth cleaned up and redressed himself, depositing the condom into the garbage bin before he even started on getting Sherlock back together. Checking his wrists was the first thing revealing red bruises where his hands had cut into Sherlock’s skin. Garth tutted at this and forced Sherlock to stand, cleaning the tears of his face and went to take a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around Sherlock’s shivering body. After that, he proceeded to clean the vomit from the floor. Then, empty and satisfied he turned to Sherlock and caressed his cheek tenderly.

“I have to go now, kitten. But don’t worry. Daddy will be back tomorrow” and with that, he winked and left the bedroom.

Sherlock remained still until he heard the door downstairs close. Then and only then he allowed himself t cry some more. He carefully got up and went to the living room where he spotted his mobile phone on the table right next to the head where he had left it. He didn’t even want to look at his body, afraid of what he would see. All he knew is that he felt sore and there wasn’t a part in his body that didn’t hurt like hell. He took his phone in hand and dared to look at the screen. He saw more texts from John and fearfully he read them.

Sherlock, are you mad at what I said?

I’m sorry.

Sherlock, are you still there? Did you fall asleep?

Of course you didn’t. Will you walk to me?

You can’t be seriously that mad at me just because I said I missed you…

Fine, have it your way, you insufferable git. See if I care. 

Sherlock sobbed again and he slid to the floor, phone dropping from his hand as he hid his face in his arms and brought his knees to his chest. Now he was sure John hated him. He wouldn’t even want to see him again, let alone help him. His last hope was now gone. His last hope to get away from Garth, his last hope to be with John as something more than just friends. He was doomed and he could do nothing but accept his fate.

The detective sobbed without caring if Mrs. Hudson would wake or for anything for that matter. He felt like he was living a nightmare. For the first time in a very long time, Sherlock felt lost and utterly hopeless…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be shorter and it will be John's POV. I'll try to update soon but I can't promise anything because my exams are really difficult. Comments are always welcome, please don't hate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I was reading the previous chapter, I noticed a few grammatical mistakes I made because I was typing fast and I was trying to figure what to write next. I'm deeply sorry, please ignore future silly mistakes.  
> I'm actually quite pleased with how long the chapter turned out to be because I had thought it would be really short! I personally loved how John came to terms with his feelings, I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Comments are always welcomed!

##  _(John’s POV)_

 

 

 

It wasn’t really common for John to get tired of his wife. His new wife who he loved so dearly. He had planned this trip so very carefully before his wedding. He had bought the tickets online, he had booked the incredibly expensive hotel and he had arranged a foul tour to the most beautiful places Greece. Everything was really perfect, especially the look full of surprise he had earned from Mary once she saw the tickets. It was true that Greece had the most amazing islands John could think of, Sherlock had told him so himself, _NO!,_ he would not think about his brilliant flat mate now! He should be really grateful and happy since he was now at Crete, a breathtakingly amazing island, in a big luxurious hotel with his wife and instead of having the time of his life, John was sulking. Here he was on the bed of their bedroom alone while his wife was currently having a walk to the local shops, just because his mad flat mate had pissed him off.  

John sighed disapprovingly at himself. He was being irrational and he knew it very well. Sherlock was just being Sherlock, the man just didn’t do sentiment. And yet here was John being incredibly mad and hurt because this brilliant mad was angry at him because he’d said he missed him! Serves him right for showing such affection to a bloody sociopath. But no. No matter how hard John tried, he had to admit to himself that he wasn’t so mad at Sherlock, because really he was just being himself, as he was hurt. He was deeply hurt and annoyed by the fact that this amazing man wouldn’t let John expose his affection towards him.

He looked at the text once again. The conversation had started so well. At first, he just couldn’t sleep and he had wanted a distraction. But soon, the conversation he’d started with his flat mate made him realize that his insomnia was just an excuse. In all truth he had missed Sherlock incredibly and inexcusably much. He couldn’t understand why he was having these thoughts but every time he would lay in bed next to Mary and close his eyes, his mind would involuntary get him back to 221B in his chair, with a cup of tea and the mad genius playing his violin just for him…

John jumped out of the bed and cursed himself. What the hell was wrong with him anyway? He was on his honeymoon for Christ’s sake! Not only he had left his wife alone for the entire day but here he was, locked up in their hotel suite, not even thinking about her but pining instead over his flat mate because he didn’t want John’s affection. No, that was not it and John knew it. Deep inside no matter how much he tried to deny it, he had just wished really badly for Sherlock to say he’d missed him too.

Suddenly he felt very guilty. Mary didn’t deserve any of that and John knew he was ruining their trip. He shouldn’t leave her alone for one second, let alone half a day! He was being ungrateful and a jerk to his wife and he couldn’t stand it. No, enough is enough, he thought. He was no longer allowed to think of Sherlock. Besides, he would soon be back at London and then he would have all the time in the world to meet the madman and… No, no, no! Enough with that, he had only been gone for three days for the love of God!

Shaking his head, John tossed the mobile phone on the bed and went to get dressed. He might have refused his wife a nice lunch and a nice walk but he would make damn sure he would give her a proper romantic night. Tonight, he would make sure to be on his best behavior and they would remember it for a long time. He smiled to himself as he got out of his pajamas and got dressed. He went to the reception and asked if they knew where his wife had gone. The pretty lady kindly told him where Mary was and he soon had left the hotel to find her.

While he was walking on the streets, John couldn’t help but let his gaze travel to the shop windows and watch the clothes. There were many jeans and a great variety of shirts but what caught John’s eye was a purple tight shirt which looked impossible to be worn by anyone and yet John knew that it could be worn by a man with a slender waist just like… _No, damn it, damn it all!_ John cursed inwardly. Now that he looked closer, it was obvious that the shirt was exactly the same as the one Sherlock wore. The one he so loved seeing on the detective.

John blinked his eyes at the foreign feeling that spread in his chest. He was really confused, he knew it wasn’t just that he missed Sherlock, it couldn’t be just that. No, it was something more. What John was feeling was pure longing and it was directed towards his flat mate. But he simply couldn’t grasp the idea, he wasn’t gay! He didn’t like men, not this way. And yet here he was suddenly home sick, feeling like a part of him was missing and he was at lost at what to do.

Before he could think about it, he searched in his pocket until he found his phone and he quickly dialed the all too familiar number. He went straight to voicemail. He sighed and ended the call. Sherlock was acting like a brat but the mere thought that maybe he was so mad at him, made John’s stomach turn. The first time John noticed that he was feeling a slight attraction towards his flat mate was… well from the first time he laid eyes on him on Bart’s. But he had dismissed it as something unimportant and minor.

The second timehe felt like he wanted Sherlock was two weeks after he had shot that damned cabbie. It started like any other night. Sherlock had shown up at their flat, blue scarf around his pale swan-like neck and his coat collar turned up against the wind. It had been raining on his way over and Sherlock neglected to bring an umbrella, as usual, going by the state of his ebony locks that were still damp on his forehead. He stood expectantly their doorway with droplets of water streaking down his young face, waiting patiently, if not a little antsy, for entry. He had forgotten his keys again and John had made him promise that he would no longer pick the lock if there was someone who could open him. John really just had to stop and admire the young man for all his beauty. Those wet auburn curls sticking to his face, those little drops of water that he just wants to lick off his cheekbones, and those perfect kissable lips…

John shuddered at the memory. He had admitted to himself that he found Sherlock at least attractive and that was it, he had dismissed it and moved on. But that little reminder of his flat mate’s physical appearance just wouldn’t leave him alone as only a few days after that incident, John had to witness Sherlock almost naked getting out of the shower. He was only wearing a pair of black underwear without caring about John’s situation. It was that day that John found out that Sherlock apparently didn’t have any sense of human privacy. Again the water was running freely down his naked torso all the while milky skin was exposed for John to admire. The sparkling blue eyes were focused on him, while the poor soldier fought to get his eyes off this spectacle and go back to his room where he shamefully wanked trying to suppress a moan of his flat mate’s name.

Now that he thought about it a little better, he found that there were several other occasions he had praised Sherlock for his looks, even if he had kept the compliments for himself. He realized that he would always look a little more than necessary to the detective while he was investigating a crime scene, or he would make sure to sit very close to him in a cab. When they were at home and Sherlock would play his violin, John would listen to him captivated and watch him carefully because when Sherlock played his violin, he was the most beautiful creature John had ever seen. John couldn’t help but relish the look on the young man’s face when he let his guard down only for a few precious moments while he played. He would look even younger and his face would be the personification of innocence and John would be bewildered by the passion apparent on the other’s facial characteristics. Especially late at night or early at the morning, under specific light where the detective would look like a lean shadow, moving unbelievably soft and elegant, one can only stare in absolute admiration at this breathtaking sight.

Suddenly the phone in his hand made a noise that let him know he had a new text. Hurriedly he looked at it and he felt his heart ready to burst out of his chest as he show that the message was from no other than Sherlock.

_I’m sorry… -SH_

That was all he read. What the hell? John tried calling the madman again but his call went to voicemail again. Frustrated he hung up and tore his eyes from the bloody purple shirt. He had been standing at the exact spot for almost twenty minutes and he hadn’t realized it. He had never felt more confused in his life and suddenly he didn’t really feel like going out with Mary anymore. It was awful and he knew it but he turned around and started walking back to the hotel again. He felt lost; he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to share his thoughts with someone but who would he dare to open himself up? And tell them what really? _Hey, I just got married only a few days ago and I’m beginning to realize that maybe this isn’t what I want after all. Maybe I was just stupid and couldn’t see what was right in front of me and now I know that I already had all I’ve ever wanted._

John groaned in frustration. Everything was perfect before the wedding, why everything had gone to hell now? What was so different now? _“Marriage changes people”_ , he remembered Mrs. Hudson telling him. Of course he was sure that’s not what she had meant. Or maybe it was. Now that John was called to actually make a choice between the woman he chose to love and spend the rest of his life with, and the insufferable yet amazing flat mate, he show he couldn’t! There shouldn’t even have to be a choice to make at all! Sherlock was his friend but Mary was his wife above everyone, right? So why John was certain that if he actually had to choose between his wife and his friend, he would pick his friend any time? It wasn’t fair.

He had to talk to someone, he had to, or he would go crazy. He couldn’t call Sherlock of course and talk to him about his feelings. Hell, he wasn’t even sure himself about his feelings yet. And even if he was he had no idea if they were returned. And then what about Mary? No, he wouldn’t think about that now. Firstly he had to understand his own feelings and be sure in order not to hurt the people he loved and cared about… loved. He had made it painfully obvious that he loved Sherlock, he wasn’t afraid to say it but only because he thought it to be indisputable that he meant in a platonic way. But now he wasn’t so sure about that. What if, his whole ease to say that he loved Sherlock wasn’t the reassurance that it was in a friendly way but his subconscious that had come to terms with his feelings and was trying to make his brain realize it too?

The ex army soldier searched his contacts until he found the number he was looking for and lifted the phone to his ear with a trembling hand. He waited patiently until he heard the reassuringly high voice on the other side.

“Hello. John is that you?”

“Molly” John breathed relieved. “Yeah, it’s me”.

“Oh, how are you doing on your honeymoon? Are you having fun? How’s Mary? Is everything okay? Oh, sorry I’m bubbling, aren’t I? It’s just that I haven’t really talked to you since your wedding and I’m sure you have a lot of news” Molly kept talking really fast and John laughed.

“It’s fine, sorry I wasn’t in contact. Mary’s fine, we’re both fine” replied John.

“Splendid!” There was a pause as Molly contemplated her next words. “Not everything’s okay though, is it? I mean you wouldn’t have called otherwise. Not in the middle of your honeymoon”.

“What makes you think I haven’t just missed you?” asked John.

“You failed to answer both my questions about your honeymoon and if you’re having fun” she said simply.

John actually laughed at that. It looked like every person near Sherlock was getting better at observing all the little things… well every person except of him of course. He took a deep breath.

“You’re right. Not everything’s okay” he said.

“What’s happened? And how can I help?” Molly sounded worried.

“Don’t worry, like I said we’re both fine. It’s just that… I think I might… well I feel like…” he didn’t know how to continue so he waited for a little help from Molly.

“Okay” Molly reassured him. “Now take a deep breath and calm down” he must’ve been really distraught if Molly asked him to calm down. “I’m assuming it has something to do with you and Mary, correct?”

John nodded before he remembered that Molly couldn’t see him.

“Yes” he said.

“Okay. And from what I presume, it has to do with how you’re feeling, yes?”

John was quite stunned that she had figured out so quickly, in a way it was like talking to Sherlock, knowing what you want to say before you get a chance to say it, and that was both unnerving and reassuring. He agreed again.

“I suppose you’re feeling rather confused. You start doubting about your… feelings towards her perhaps? And it is partly Sherlock’s fault” that last part wasn’t a question.

“Yes, oh God, yes” the man sounded really impressed. “How could you tell?”

It was Molly’s turn to laugh now.

“Well I’ve been single for enough time and I’ve read a lot of psychological books about feelings and this sort of thing” she replied cheerfully.

John smiled.

“You’re right, Mols. You couldn’t have been more right. I feel lost. I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure how I feel” he said miserable.

“Okay. You tell me what confuses you so much. You love Mary, don’t you?”

“Of course I do” he replied immediately. “But also… I think I might love Sherlock too” he was shocked at how easily he had said it. “I mean, is that even possible, to love two people at the same time?”

“It is” Molly said. “But I don’t think that’s what’s happening to you”.

“What do you mean?” John sounded agitated again.

“Are you ready to face the truth?” Molly asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John was mad now.

“Calm down John, relax. It won’t do you any good if you get upset. But I’m asking you because if you want to know the truth so badly, you must be able to handle it too”.

The ex army soldier sighted as he saw that he had returned to the hotel.

“Yes, I just want to know what the hell I’m feeling” he said determined.

“Okay. I won’t tell you though. I’ll just help you realize. Tell me what do you feel about Mary?”

“Well, I love her. I want to see her happy. I like being with her and I’m perfectly content with my life as it is now…”

“Being content doesn’t mean you’re happy too” Molly said and John winced. “And now tell me what do you feel about Sherlock, and be honest, if not with me, then with yourself”.

“Love” he answered astonished again at how naturally it sounded to say it like it was supposed to be this way. “Affectionate, I want to make him happy, I guess I feel rather protective and… and…” John shattered.

“John…” he could practically see Molly’s smirk through the phone.

“What?” he spat. What did she see that he couldn’t?

“Don’t you see the difference? You said that you wanted to see Mary happy, yet you didn’t indicate that you had to be the one to make that happen. Now when it comes to Sherlock, you specifically said that you wanted to make him happy. Do you enjoy being with him too?”

“Yes. We were living together for two years, of course I bloody love spending time with him” John sighed defeated.

“What else do you feel about him?” she practically purred.

“I… Well…” John gave up trying to find the right words and just said what he truly felt. “Molly, have you ever just looked at someone and thought, “I really love you”. They’re just talking or humming or speaking nonsense or watching a movie or reading a book or laughing or something, and there’s something about them in that moment that makes you think, “I just really love you”… have you ever felt like that about anyone?” John asked as he entered his room and collapsed to his bed.

“John, I think that you just wanted to say these things aloud to someone. I think that deep inside your heart you already know… do you really want me to spell it out for you?” she asked. “Deep inside, I think we all knew” she added.

“I… thank you, Molly” John actually felt relieved as the realization hit him hard. “I know… I think I’ve always known. But what should I do now?”

“Now, you’ll finish your honeymoon, you’ll talk to Mary and you’ll come back and have a nice chat with Sherlock telling him how you really feel about him” Molly sounded relieved as well.

“What? No, I… I can’t do that. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore? I can’t risk losing him, Molly” John was starting to panic again.

“That will never happen” Molly laughed amused. “And he does feel the same way about you, he’s just stubborn as you are”.

“How do you know? You can’t be sure” accused John.

“Same way I knew what your problem was” replied Molly casually. “John, trust me, he loves you just as much as you do. And that’s a lot” she sounded happy.

“Thank you” John said again. “I’ve got to go now. I think I’ll come back to London sooner than planned. I’ll see you then, okay?”

“Okay. Good bye John and please don’t deny what everyone can see plain as the day anymore” and with that she hung up.

John lay in his bed with a happy smile. It was so simple really and yet it was terrifying. How much they’d missed because they’ve been both stupid. The more he really thought about it, the more scared he got. He couldn’t control these feelings and the thought that it wasn’t even something new, terrified him. Did that mean that everything the others kept telling them was all true? Did that mean that what they’ve been denying themselves was real? Could that mean that he was in love with Sherlock…? Of course he was. He was madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes and now that he had admitted it to himself, there was no turning back.

Everything would be okay, he kept telling himself. He would return to London, confess his love to Sherlock and then they’d be together forever. They’d solve cased and run after criminals and they’d fight every day but then they’d make love every night worshiping each other and showing their love. The mere prospect of this life brought a happy smile to John’s lips and he sighed happily. This is what he wanted, what he needed. He had made a terrible mistake with this wedding but it was never late to fix it. Now, he couldn’t wait to go back and fix everything and finally start living his dream with his beloved detective. He was so happy that when he fell asleep next to his wife the same night, he prayed, just for good measure, that his dreams would come true. 

Unfortunately, the good doctor was too wrapped up in his love for Sherlock, that he momentarily forgot that nightmares were dreams too...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys but next chapter won't come before Friday. I have a very difficult biology exam and I need to study. But don't lose faith, I'll update a new chapter on Friday and Mycroft will finally make his appearance! Also, you may leave your suggestions at your comments, I love reading your ideas!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Done with my biology exam so I'm free!  
> This chapter contains rape/non con and we finally get to see Mycroft! We'll also see Lestrade in the next chapter. It will contain some Mystrade!  
> Sherlock's POV again!

The loud noise kept buzzing in his skull. Sherlock willed it to go away shaking his head almost violently but the buzzing kept going on, insistent. The young man growled. He didn’t want to see anyone. He just wanted to be left alone to sleep and relax. His head hurt like hell and he could feel every single bone and muscle in his body throbbing in pain and for a brief moment he wondered what had happened to him. As the ringing continued, he suddenly remembered everything. Last night, Garth being there, Garth stripping him, Garth entering him… He mewled aloud and closed his eyes tighter willing the noise and the pain to go away. But neither happened. Sherlock reluctantly opened his eyes and took a look around him. He was lying on the floor in the middle of his living room wrapped in a sheet, full of his dried blood, and nothing else. And what was that bloody noise anyway?

            _The bell…_

The realization took him by surprise as he wondered what time could it possibly be? He looked out of the window but the sun seemed too bright to him and he closed his eyes again, unable to make out what time it was. Then a dreadful fear washed over him. What if it was Garth again and had returned to make him even more miserable than he already felt? If that was possible… No, for Garth everything was possible of course.  

Sherlock was immediately on his feet and was rushing to the door before he even realized what he was doing. It was an irrational fear and deep inside he knew it. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, a lost teenager. He could fight back now, he could kick Garth out of his life once and for all. And yet, here he was once again ready to submit full of fear to that cruel boy who had grew up to be nothing but an even more ruthless man. It was the all too familiar feeling of submission, the need to not fight back, the urge to surrender that he had gotten used to back then and was too late to change now.

When he arrived at the door he took a moment to collect himself a bit. He knew it wouldn’t do him any good if Garth saw how scared of him he really was. Sherlock had a look at the mirror that was hanging on the wall right next to him. God, he really looked terrible but now there was nothing he could do and there was nothing he actually wanted to do about it since he didn’t give a damn if Garth would like him like that or not. It was his fault anyway. Maybe if Garth was too disgust by his appearance, he would leave him alone for the rest of the day. As if…, Sherlock thought bitterly. His terrible condition had never stopped Garth before. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, he proceeded to open the door.

But of course life would be so much unmerciful to him because Sherlock was already miserable that day, why not add another pain in his ass and make feel even more miserable? Apparently that was life’s cruel idea of joke. The detective winced as if he was in pain, at the sight in front of him but let the man enter the house nevertheless. He turned his back to the slightly taller man and went upstairs again with the other right behind him.

“What do you want?” the detective growled and threw himself on his couch wrapping the sheet tightly around his naked body.

“Charming as ever” mused the other and gave him a small smile.

“Mycroft!” it was more a sigh of exasperation than anything else. “What is it?” he refused to turn his head to his brother for fear that he might notice his bloodied lip.

“Well, I was my guess was that now that John is away, you’d be bored to death and you’d die for a new case. Certainly I didn’t expect you to be… otherwise distracted”.

Sherlock tensed. He knew his brother would notice but he would be damned if he would let Mycroft interfere with his life again.  

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked again trying to sound impassive.

“As always, I’m concerned about you” Mycroft replied and sat down at John’s chair having a look around the house.

Sherlock frowned at his brother sitting on John’s chair. That place wasn’t for anyone to sit at, it was John’s and only John’s. Only he could sit there, where he had a perfect view of the detective while he was curled at his favorite couch. It was a common thing that none of them ever talked about. Sherlock would sulk at the couch for hours and John would sit in his armchair reading a book or blogging about them, while watching the detective every now and then just to reassure himself that he was okay. It was a silent agreement they had and now, watching Mycroft sitting there, suddenly felt as if he was breaking their agreement. Sherlock shook his head. That was ridiculous. John didn’t live there anymore and therefore the agreement didn’t count. Did that mean that this armchair also wasn’t John’s anymore?

A distinct cough attracted the detective’s attention back to his brother who hadn’t stopped watching him. Sherlock frowned again and stared at a spot on the floor. He was just waiting for his brother to lose his patience, something he knew was gonna happen eventually since he wasn’t prepared to tell him anything.

“Well?” Mycroft asked.

“Well what?” Sherlock played the fool.

“Tell me about him”.

“Him?”

“Don’t play fool, brother dear. It doesn’t suit you” Mycroft said.

“I don’t want to” Sherlock replied still refusing to look at his brother.

“Sherlock” Mycroft warned. “Despite your irrational beliefs, I care deeply about you. I am more than concerned and this time, I believe you’ll agree that I have a good reason”.

“Whatever do you mean, brother dear?” the detective continued.

“Will…” he immediately stopped as Sherlock roused from the couch and looked at him with a haunted look.

“Don’t… **DON’T**.” Sherlock was horrified with himself as he realized he was on the verge of tears. Quickly he blinked his eyes and continued to staring at the floor.

“Sherlock, listen to me” Mycroft tried to approach him but the younger man flinched away and wrapped the sheet even tighter around his shivering body.

“Leave. It’s clear that you have no reason to be here. Your presence is neither required nor wanted here. Leave” Sherlock was near a crisis.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft tried to make him calm down but in vain.

“I said leave, why won’t you leave?” Sherlock was now trembling and his eyes darted all around the flat, unable to focus on a single thing.

“Sherlock, please…”

Eventually Sherlock begun to have difficulty in breathing and he was shaking violently. His legs felt like jelly and he felt light-headed. He registered his brother saying something to him but he couldn’t make out his words. He felt like he was going to throw up and he shut his eyes tight. He willed himself to relax because there was no reason for him to panic. Everything was fine. And yet he couldn’t breathe and he had no idea of what was happening around him. That was until he felt a strong slap across his right cheek and hands grasped his own, steady but gently. Immediately, he opened his eyes.

“WILLIAM!” Mycroft screamed to his face.

Sherlock stared at him dumbfounded as if he had never seen him before. The name Mycroft used to call him when they were little kids, his first name. It reminded him of so much that the memories overwhelmed him and he had nearly panicked.

“Mycroft…?” He asked unsure.

“Calm down” the older man order him. His voice was somehow gentle, despite the direct order.

Sherlock allowed his brother to calm him down and rub his wrists gently until he gasped almost scared. He carefully brought their joined hands close to his face to evaluate the bruises and the cuts that decorated the snowy skin on his brother’s wrists. He gently trailed the marred skin and looked at his brother in his eyes. But Sherlock refused to return the look. Mycroft gently gripped his little brother’s chin and lifted his face so their eyes would meet and the detective had no option but to look at him.

“Sherlock… what happened to you?” Mycroft asked carefully.    

“Myc…” Sherlock whispered blinking rapidly. He was at lost. He didn’t know what he was feeling, he didn’t know what he wanted and he didn’t know if he wanted to be left alone or if he actually feared to be alone.

So instead he said nothing and stared at the floor like he found something particularly interesting there. He knew all he had to do was talk to Mycroft. Tell him that Garth was back. Explain to him the horrors that this man did to him last night… again after all these years! He knew that this time, Mycroft would make sure that Garth disappeared from the face of earth for good. But he felt ashamed. He was a grown man, he could defend himself. He wasn’t a damn kid anymore, he could handle himself, he didn’t need his big brother to come and rescue him like he had in the past. No, this was a situation he would get himself out alone, without anyone’s help. If anything, he owned it to himself. He shook his head and composed himself.

“Everything okay” he said after a few minutes and looked his brother in the eyes. “Nothing’s happened, I’m fine”.

The look Mycroft gave him was fool of disbelief. He looked at Sherlock’s bruised wrists and rubbed them gently. The detective flinched away and turned his back to his brother, cradling his arms in his chest. He didn’t need Mcroft’s comfort right now. What he really needed was a plan to make Garth disappear from his life once and for all. And John… God, how he needed John to be with him now, if not to kiss and hold him, just to stay with him and console him.

“Sherlock” Mycroft sounded more sad than mad. “You know that I’m here, right? You know that despite the popular belief, I care about your wellbeing. I only want to help” he sounded honest.

Sherlock shook his head exasperated. But in all honesty, he had to look angry; otherwise he might burst into tears. It wasn’t very often that someone cared about him. He wasn’t used to the affection. He thought he was better off without it but now he could see crystal clear that he was craving for a little affection. He was simply dying for a little love and there was no one to give it to him. That wasn’t fair. Sherlock deserved tenderness as much as anyone else, didn’t he? So why had life decided that he could never be happy no matter what?

“I’m fine” he repeated. “I do not ask for your help, I can manage on my own. Thank you very much for your concern but it’s not needed. What else…? Oh yeah, now piss off” he sprawled himself on the couch again.  

Mycroft sighed and contemplated whether to approach his brother or not.

“If there’s anything you need…”

“Why?” Sherlock interrupted him from the couch. He raised his head and looked at his brother. Mycroft arched his eyebrow questioningly. “Why are you here? Why are you suddenly so willing to help me?”

“Because brothers don’t let each other wander in the dark alone” the older man replied and smiled sardonically.

The detective was once again left speechless. Could he really mean that? Was it possible that Mycroft actually wanted to help him instead of just judge him and act all disappointed again like he had back then? He didn’t want to risk it though. He was fine, he could handle Garth and he would prove it to Mycroft and to everyone else who thought he was weak. No, Mycroft didn’t care about him, he didn’t care about anyone. He just felt obliged to help him so that mummy wouldn’t be upset. But Sherlock was proud enough and didn’t need anyone’s charity.

“Very inspiring” he spat. “But I don’t believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at” he then pointed at Mycroft accusingly. “Mummy used to say we were the same soul split in two and walking around on four legs. It seemed unnatural being born together and then dying apart. Now I see that we have nothing in common. You don’t care about me and I don’t care about you, that’s how things are. I’ve learnt to live with it”.

Mycroft looked quite sad or so he seemed to Sherlock. The younger man refused to be moved by this fact. And then the taller man recited something they both knew from an old book they used to read when they were little kids.

“We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like fishes, but have yet to learn the simple act of walking the earth like brothers”. He lifted his coat and walked to the door where he stood and gave a look at his younger brother. “If you need me, you know where to find me, brother mine. I’d be happy to help”.

“Why” Sherlock whispered again not facing his brother. “You keep saying caring is not an advantage. You don’t care. It’s… it’s your number one rule”.

Mycroft smiled again. This smile though was a bit brighter than the previous one. It was like he was expecting Sherlock to say that and he actually knew how to reply. Which he did, of course. He always knew how to reply to Sherlock.

“All rules have their exceptions, Sherlock”. After that he turned and leaved.

The young man on the couch closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He felt exhausted. He just wanted to be left alone for the rest of his life. Alone with his doctor… No, no, **NO**! He was absolutely not gonna think about John now. It wouldn’t do him any good. Besides, he knew that John and Mary would be back sooner than planned. In fact, he would be able to see him in three days. He was over the moon to see the man he had so missed but on the other hand he didn’t know how he would act when he was at his side again. How he wished for their life not to be like this…

He hadn’t meant to sleep. No. He had just closed his eyes for a second there in order to block out any sound and be able to think about his beloved John. But there he was now, at last awoken by a sharp noise from the door. Someone was ringing the bell and whoever he was, Sherlock could tell that he was being insistent. With an annoyed sight, he got up and walked to his bedroom. He put on the first shirt and trousers he found and then he went downstairs again. He hadn’t realized that he was hungry until his stomach growled. He ignored it and opened the door. He froze at the sight in front of him and went immediately limp. He knew it wouldn’t matter if he tried to close the door again. If anything, it would only do matters worst and they were already bad enough.

“Hello, love” Garth said and leaned to kiss the younger man.

Sherlock didn’t pull back, he never did, but didn’t kiss back either. He just remained still and let Garth press his mouth to his own unwilling lips, secretly hoping that Garth would get exasperated by the lack of response and leave him alone. He should have known better. The blonde man pulled back with a slight frown and walked in past the detective. He entered the flat like he owned the place and sat down at John’s chair. Sherlock winced at the sight.

“Get up” he said sternly.      

Garth lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Woah, what’s the matter, beautiful? Weren’t you expecting me? I told you I’d come back” he took of his coat and let it fall on the floor.

“I want you to get out” the detective said and crossed his arms on his chest. “I don’t want you here”.

The other gave him an amused look.

“Honey, is this about yesterday? I’ll admit I was a bit rough, but I hadn’t seen you in such a long time and I’ve missed you terribly. Worry not, I’m here today to make it up to you” and with that he had jumped on the detective and was already kissing his neck before Sherlock even realized what was happening.

“No, no!” he screamed and pushed the taller man away from him.

The slap found him on his left cheek and he could feel a little blood on his lower lip. He growled menacingly because he didn’t care about a little blood if he could get away from Garth. He didn’t want a repetition of last night. The mere thought of it made his blood freeze and left him weak on his knees. This was a perfect opportunity for Garth to push him down and pin him to the floor. Sherlock writhed underneath him but the other man was heavier and more muscular so it was a lost fight. He felt like vomiting, his shirt was ripped and the other began tugging it away from his torso.  

“No” he breathed. “Stop, please, stop!” by now he was begging and he didn’t give a shit. At this point, he was willing to do everything to get the man off of him.

Garth smiled and started sucking at his long white neck. Sherlock whimpered and tried to fight again. Another slap, this one on the right side of his face. No, he couldn’t let Garth take control, he could fight back, he wasn’t at his mercy. Taking a big breath, he lifted his knee and felt a huge satisfaction when his knee connected with the other man’s ribs. Putting all his strength, he managed to knock all the air of Garth’s lungs. The other gasped in pain and clutched his ribs letting out a painful growl. But the grip on the detective’s right hand didn’t become loose at all.

“Let me go!” he screamed and tried kicking Garth again but this time the other was prepared and caught Sherlock’s leg efficiently twisting it enough to hear the crack of bones breaking. Sherlock yelped in pain and tried to bring his right leg back to his chest but the other man just wouldn’t let go.

“Look what you’ve done now” Garth said angrily. “You, stupid man, why can’t you just submit?” Sherlock tried yelling again but Garth had already a piece of cloth in his hand and as soon as Sherlock opened his mouth, he shoved it in, gagging the now panicking detective.  

When Sherlock’s struggles had ceased, Garth caressed his cheekbone and then out of nowhere brought his fist straight to his face, knocking the detective out. He then proceeded to lift the body and carry him over to the bedroom. He closed the door and placed the unconscious man on the bed carefully face down. He hadn’t planned on doing that, not yet. He didn’t want to but the stubborn detective didn’t leave him any other choice. Searching to his pockets, Garth found the handcuffs he was looking for and smiled. They’d used them many times in the past and he was dying to use them again on those pale wrists. It wasn’t his fault that Sherlock just looked delicious when he was tied.

He carefully handcuffed the young man’s wrists and ankles to the bed board and after he was done, he checked them again. When he was finally satisfied, he began stripping him, using his pocket knife to cut the clothes and free the milky skin he so loved watching bruise. He gently run his hand through the dark curls and stroked Sherlock’s hair.

When Sherlock came round, he realized he was lying on his bed in his bedroom. He soon found out that something was wrong with his limbs for he could not move any of his hands or feet. He tried to turn on his back and saw terrified that he was cuffed in his bed. He mumbled trying to call for help only to realize that he was gagged as well and soon he felt someone else’s presence in the room. It took him a moment and then he remembered everything… Garth! Why was he so stupid? Why hadn’t he asked help from Mycroft?

“Hello, sleepy beauty, I thought you’d never wake up” said the other man cheerfully.

Sherlock struggled with his bonds but he understood that there was no way he could escape, just as he had believed. He only growled at Garth since he couldn’t speak and then he felt cold in his skin. He began hyperventilating when he realized that he was naked. He didn’t want this to happen but he had brought it upon himself and there was nothing he could do now to prevent what was to come.

“You know, Sherlock, I just wanted to make it up to you for last night, but no. You just had to be a bad boy and make daddy mad again. Why couldn’t you just be nice and say thank you? I’d have made it so good for you. Well’ since I see you’re being a disobedient bastard, I’ll just have to punish you and hope next time, you’ll know to behave” Garth stated simple.

Sherlock continued struggling wildly when he heard the unmistakable sound of a zip being pulled down… he wasn’t ready for this. He really didn’t want this. He tried to say something, anything, even apologize and promise he’d never do it again, only to find himself gagged and unable to form a word. He knew that he was doomed the time he felt the other man straddling him. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down giving up fighting. If he could be calm, maybe his muscles would relax and the whole ordeal would be less painful.    

“Now keep still for daddy” Garth said as he put on a condom. He’d left his shirt on. There was no point to strip completely since the other man couldn’t see him anyway.

Sherlock closed his eyes not wanting to see what was to happen. He tried to escape to his mind palace but that was impossible as he felt one finger intruding his unprepared hole. He hissed in pain and gritted his teeth. Damn, it hurt without any lube but of course he couldn’t complain. The assault continued until he felt Garth adding a second finger and then a third. When he pulled them all out, Sherlock was really panicked because he knew what would come next and he knew that he was nowhere near ready for it. And he was right. Garth lined up with him holding his swelling cock, full of blood in his hand, and directed it straight into Sherlock’s hole. Without any warning he pushed all the way in. The detective couldn’t help but scream into the gag as he felt tears in his eyes. He felt like he was being split in two. Garth began thrusting violently in him panting in pleasure.

“That’s it, so good!” he moaned.

Sherlock for his part remained silent. He sobbed loudly, turning his head as far away as he could so that he didn’t have to watch what was happening to him, hands clenched into tight fists as Garth breeched him. Garth sighed, adjusting himself left and right, before continuing to push forward. Lube probably was a good idea, but he wasn’t about to get up and retrieve some now. Not when the point of this was to put Sherlock off, get him so far on edge that he would be unable to fight him again. That he would be pliable and behave once more.

Grasping Sherlock’s hip at the bend of his leg, Garth tugged Sherlock downward and shoved forward, noting the tiny little wince on Sherlock’s brow as he buried himself deep inside. The rape continued, a silent and eerie affair that Sherlock could almost convince himself was a dream, if it weren’t for the horrifying pain in his abdomen every time Garth thrust forward into his bowels. Sherlock was crying like a baby, sobs that made his head hurt, as his body vibrated in pain while Garth fucked him hard.

Grunting with every thrust Garth watched as Sherlock spiraled out of control. His lips began quivering, his eyes became unfocused and he began shaking his head back and forth. He tried to hide his face, crane his neck around, burry his head on the pillow so he wouldn’t have to look at Garth, to watch. But Garth was having none of it. He wouldn’t let him burry his head in the pillow, tugging at the dark curls, keeping his head pressed to his chest. When Sherlock finally slumped down onto the bed, motionless, he had surrendered and so Garth came, spilling inside Sherlock and tugging out quickly so he could cum across his arse. Panting, Garth stood from the bed, still without a word, before climbing back into his trousers. Sherlock passed out in the filth, his little hiccups the only sound that rang through the flat, hands and legs still bound. He wanted to die.

This time Garth didn’t leave. Instead he untied Sherlock and then lay right next to him, spooning the detective from behind. He pressing his chest to Sherlock’s back rubbing soothing circles to the man’s back even though he wasn’t conscious. He knew Sherlock like the back of his hand, he knew how to handle him and he was aware that if he continued like that, the young man would break sooner than expected. But he just couldn’t resist. It was just far too lovely to have Sherlock so broken down before him, a whole new toy to play with. But he had to be patient. Now that he had shown Sherlock who he belonged to, he should try and be a little gentler with him like he used to do when they were together. He knew very well that the man was craving for affection so if he would just give him a little, Sherlock would immediately spread his legs for him, begging him to have his way with him.

He smiled to himself. He was close, very close. Soon enough Sherlock would be his forever to do with as he pleased. He sighed contently and let sleep take him. Yes, that’s what he would do. Buy him a few gifts, take him out for dinner, show him that he cared and Sherlock would literally fall on his knees before him. Garth was pleased with himself as hold on to the detective. This was their last chess game. And he was prepared to checkmate. The last move would be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John will be back in the next chapter!!! He'll finally go and find Sherlock to confess his undying love for him, but in life rarely everything goes according to plan...  
> I'd really like to hear your opinions guys, so if you want, you can tell me your suggestions to your comments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that Greg would be in this chapter and there'll be some Mystrade but that didn't happen. Well things got a bit out of plan. Anyway, this chapter is a little longer, I think. But I promise we'll definitely see Greg in the next chapter! Contains elements of rape/non con, drug abuse. Sorry for the silly mistakes, please ignore them.

_Sherlock opened his eyes slowly. He felt dizzy and he couldn’t quite focus. He could barely see Garth from where he was lying on the floor. Wait a second… why was he lying on the floor? And why wasn’t he wearing anything on his torso but an old pair of jeans and his shoes? He could feel himself trembling and he knew he was afraid. He had no idea what was going on, where he was or what was about to happen. The last thing he remembered was being in bed with Garth cuddling him while the older boy gave him some painkillers for his headache. Oh, but of course. No painkillers. It must’ve been some kind of drugs. The half naked boy shook his head. He didn’t want to believe that Garth would drug him just like that. And yet here he was, on the floor of a strange bedroom. The other boy smiled at him when he saw him stir._

_“Wake up, kitten. I’ve got some fun arranged for you”._

_Sherlock didn’t like the way Garth’s eyes sparkled when he said “fun.” He knew for a fact that he wouldn’t enjoy it. Otherwise he wouldn’t be drugged nearly out of his mind. He still couldn’t believe what his boyfriend had done to him. He knew it wasn’t right but he trusted Garth. Garth loved him and he would take care of him, he knew it. So he let himself be pulled up by the slightly taller boy and placed on the bed. Sherlock tried to protest when Garth pulled him on his back. What was he doing now? If the man wanted sex, he could’ve just asked. Sherlock might not have wanted it but he’d have complied just to make his boyfriend happy. Why did he have to drug him like that? The older boy kneeled in front of the bed._

_“Sshh, now listen to me, darling, I need you to do me a favor. A friend of mine will be here in a couple of minutes and he wants to have some fun. He hasn’t been with anyone in a very long time…” Sherlock felt nauseous._

_Of course he hadn’t understood well. Garth couldn’t really be asking him what he thought he did. Sherlock was his boyfriend, of course he wouldn’t share him. And he definitely wouldn’t hand him over to his friend to have sex with him like he was a prostitute. But if not that, then what exactly was Garth asking him to do? And why was he drugged without his consent damn it? He shook his head, trying to focus on Garth’s words. Of course he wasn’t asking him to have sex with a stranger, Sherlock was being irrational and idiotic._

_“So you’re gonna take good care of him, right, kitten? You’ll do some of the tricks I’ve taught you and you’ll be good. Just behave and listen to him, do whatever he wants and if you’re a good boy, I’ll reward you later” he said and winked._

_“What…” what was he talking about?_

_“You take care of him, okay?” Garth petted his hair and got up._

_“No…” Sherlock tried to grab Garth and not let him go. He wasn’t serious, of course. This must have been some sort of joke. Garth was surely messing with him._

_“Now Sherlock… behave” Garth said strictly._

_The boy calmed down a bit. The drugs didn’t allow him to think clearly. Was that supposed to happen? Was it normal in relationships to share each other like that with your other friends? Sherlock was really confused and he found that he didn’t realize exactly what was happening around him as he suddenly looked up only to see another boy right next to his boyfriend. That one was a little older than Garth, almost a proper man._

_“That’s Sam” said Garth. “He’s the one you need to take care of. If you’re good, he’s gonna take care of you too”._

_“Not this” Sherlock whispered when the other boy approached him slowly._

_“Please, anything but this” he turned to Garth desperate._

_“This?” taunted Sam watching as the boy shuddered. “What’s this? What are you on about, dove?”_

_Sherlock shook his head no, he didn’t want to say it aloud, hadn’t even admitted it to himself what was gonna happen. There was clear lack of his consent so that made it a rape. But what hurt more Sherlock was the fact that his beloved boyfriend was the one who had drugged and practically sold him to his friend as if Sherlock was nothing but a prostitute. A toy they could play with to satisfy their needs on his body and then what? What was gonna happen next? Sam was going to rape him and then leave and what was Sherlock supposed to do? Go back to his place to have a round two with Garth? Go on like it never happened and continue his life with his boyfriend? Was that what they were expecting him to do?_

_“Please,” he begged._

_Sam removed his jacket and waistcoat before undoing his tie and saddling up behind the now terrified boy. He tormented the boy by pulling him to his feet and caressing his milky white skin and kissing his throat. Sherlock barely registered Garth leaving the room as he tried to fight Sam off. But he was unable to do much as the drugs let him weak as a kitten. Sam hummed in pleasure before forcing Sherlock’s hands behind his back and using his own belt to bind them there. Sherlock was sobbing openly by now, as Sam bent him over the bed, face pressed against the mattress and feet hardly able to hold him upright. Sam just let him sob, leaning down to his feet and lifting one leg up at a time to remove the black shoes the boy was wearing. Sherlock was near hysterics._

_“I thought you were told to behave” Sam singed._

_“Please!” he shouted, “Don’t do it! Garth, don’t let him do it!” but Garth was long gone, having left them alone._

_“Shh,” Sam soothed, rubbing a small circle into Sherlock’s lower back before reaching under the teens hips and undoing his belt, easing the boy's trousers and pants down his hips so that they pooled onto the floor. “Up onto the bed,” he coaxed, watching as Sherlock shuffled forward, sobs still wracking his chest. He would be horse in the morning at this rate._

_Sam pulled a condom from his wallet before rolling it down his erection and sliding up onto the bed behind Sherlock’s prone and exposed form, “God, you’re bloody gorgeous, you know that?” Sam told the boy, letting him hiccup in panic, an act that the older man found almost adorable. “Are you sure you’re Garth’s pet? Not an ugly fuck like him!” he joked._

_Sherlock was certain that he would pass out at this point or he would throw up in front of Sam and he was certain that this wouldn’t please the man. He attempted to shove him off but earned a slap on his left cheek that really hurt. He tried desperately to resist the other man’s ministration fighting as best as he could. But he was both drugged and tied and it was a lost fight. But the more he struggled the more Sam got erected and Sherlock hated the fact that man’s prick was pressed against his naked backside. The mere thought of what was going to happen to him was enough to give him a panic attack. At last, Sam grew tired of his attempts and struck him so hard that for a moment Sherlock thought he saw stars._

_“Enough with the games now. I don’t want to have to punish you, so you’ll be a good boy and behave. Is that understood?” Sam ordered._

_“Yes” Sherlock all but sobbed._

_“Good,” Sam soothed, Sherlock relaxing, thinking it was over, assuming it was just mental torture to get him to behave and he wouldn’t hurt him anymore. Sam used this moment to line up Sherlock’s hips and drive his cock deep into the teen’s unsuspecting arse. Sherlock screamed. His voice hard and his body stiffening as he writhed under the man’s sharp thrusts. Sam could feel the ripping flesh and the blood, even though Garth had said he had taken a quick moment to prepare his pet for the intrusion the last time to ease the way. There was nothing to make this easier, however, and Sam just hoped he wouldn’t need to call in a doctor to give the little whore underneath him sutures. He felt a sting of guilt but only for one second._

_The assault continued. Sam setting a brutal pace that left Sherlock’s lean body jarred into the bed, his nose crushed under the weight of the thrusts and his cheekbone taking the pressure of his body weight. Tears poured down his face and onto the bed, wetting the duvet until Sherlock was lying in wet sheets. Nevertheless, Sam didn’t make any move to stop._

_“God, you’re the best whore I’ve ever had” Sam shouted down at the sobbing boy who just shook his head still denying what was happening to him._

_Sherlock coughed slightly as Sam kept pressing forward, his body fighting back against the intrusion that was trying to get into his tight, unprepared hole. Slowly his hand found a place through Sherlock’s curls and the man tugged at them bringing the boy’s head back painfully. Sherlock screamed desperately and went completely limp pressed in the mattress he quieted completely. Sam thrust deep into the boy’s arse, moaning as it constricted around him. Somehow Sherlock managed to relax his muscles and Sam’s dick moved in and out of him with more ease._

_“That’s it,” Sam cooed down at him, his speed picking up. “Oh God,” he moaned as he held onto Sherlock’s shoulder and hip, nails digging crescent moons into the flesh. “Why so quiet?” he taunted. “You were so loud just a few minutes ago!” Sherlock only sobbed as his arse was pounded by Sam’s relentless thrusts._

_There was some tearing, Sam had felt it a long time ago, but the blood wasn’t flowing freely. Nothing to be concerned about; just the sweet sensations of this young boy’s arse clenching down on him and the beautiful mottled ivory skin in front of him. That in combination with the ebony curls he had wrapped his hand into, there was no denying that Garth’s little pet was the prettiest one he had ever had._

_Sam’s orgasm hit him hard as he first stilled and then came deep inside the whining boy. The man pulled out and sat on the bed, a dreamy smile on his face before zipping himself up and standing._

_“Thank you, darling. That was good, I really needed that.”_

_Removing the condom and tossing it into the trash bin, Sam cleaned himself up and redressed, removing the belt from Sherlock’s wrists to put back around his waist. And with these words he left the room. Sherlock had collapsed onto the floor immediately curling his knees up into his trembling body. He couldn’t believe it, no, he didn’t want to believe what had just happened. He had just been raped by his boyfriend’s friend, after his boyfriend had drugged him and practically sell him to Sam. He felt dizzy with confusion before he heard the door opening again._

_“Now, now for a first time you did it excellent. I knew I could count on you” Garth cooed as he approached the teenager who was still lying on the cold floor._

_“Garth…” Sherlock whispered unable to focus on anything. He was still nauseous and his whole backside hurt._

_“Come on, kitten” the older boy said and lowered himself to Sherlock’s level._

_Sherlock sighted in relief, needing comfort as he still couldn’t understand what had happened. He tried to lean on Garth and let the boy take care of him. All he wanted right at this point was a hug. But instead, Garth grabbed him violently by the arm and threw him at the bed again. Sherlock whimpered as his arse hurt him like hell and blinked in confusion. What now? Garth just smiled at him and straddled his naked form. He began kissing him all the while striping himself. Sherlock coughed and winced in pain as Garth pushed his legs out of the way and entered him without warning. He remained silent as Garth thrust hard, almost violently inside of him. The boy closed his eyes trying to block the pain away, doing anything in his power to distance his mind from his body. Anything to stop feeling this pain in his body which in all honesty was nothing compared to the emotional pain he was feeling…_

 

Sherlock jolted awake screaming and crying loudly. He blinked his eyes trying to clear them from the tears. He was no longer in a Sam’s bedroom; he was back in his own bed, at Baker Street. He had just had a nightmare. He tried to calm himself down as the events from last night came back to him. Suddenly he realized that he wasn’t alone in his bed. He could feel strong arms wrapped around him and he starred in disbelief at the man who was sitting awake right next to him. Garth… he was here, he had stayed here with him this time. What exactly had happened? Oh yes, now he remembered everything. Garth had assaulted him last night until he had passed out. Apparently for some reason, unknown to Sherlock, he thought it would be a good idea to stay with him.

“Shh, it’s okay, it was just a bad dream” Garth actually soothed him rubbing comforting circles to his back.

“What?” Sherlock blinked in confusion. Was he still dreaming?

“It’s fine now, you’re fine, I promise” Garth ignored him and he hugged him. He truly hugged him!

Suddenly Sherlock didn’t care. He just didn’t care anymore whether this was right or wrong. He wanted, no, he needed some comfort and if Garth was willing to provide some, then Sherlock would be the last person to stop him. He took a deep breath and buried his head in the older man’s shoulder. Garth smiled and wrapped his arms around the detective trying his best to make him feel better. All part of the plan. He had torture him enough for the time being, he now had to be gentle and tender. Like he was when they had first met. That would make Sherlock remember what his place was.

“It’s okay, I’ll make it go away. Relax” he said and caressed Sherlock’s cheek carefully.

The detective sighed and nodded. Of course he would let Garth make it go away. All these memories were locked far away in his mind palace and now that they were out, there was no telling at what would happen to him. He would go crazy, that was for sure. He needed someone to help him, to comfort him. All his life he was told that he was a beautiful boy who grew to be a beautiful man. Was just a little affection so much to ask? But he was being stupid once again in his life. This is where he belonged. It was moronic to make plans and have doubts. That was his place, his life. Why did he have to try and change it? He didn’t have to oppose to Garth anymore. Garth was good, he was a good man deep inside and he must love him. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come back for him after all these years.

“Thank you” Sherlock whispered and snuggled to Garth’s side.

“Of course” said the other one smiling mischievously. “Everything you need, I’m here for you” he whispered gently and he kissed Sherlock’s temple. “Go back to sleep, kitten, I’ll be here, I promise. I’m not going anywhere”.

The detective hummed and closed his eyes again feeling more secure.

“We should go for dinner. You and me like the old times. Like a date. Do you remember how much you loved our dates? Would you like that?”

Sherlock hummed again feeling a little better.

“Good then. It’s settled. Sleep a little more and I’ll go book us a table”. And then he said those words he knew would make Sherlock melt and succumbed to him immediately. “I love you”.

Sherlock stiffed in his arms but didn’t move away. He couldn’t have heard right, could he? Had Garth actually said that he loved him? Did he really mean that? And what if he was right? What if he really was the only one who could ever love him? Why did Sherlock push his chances away? The detective was too tired and shaken by his nightmare to think it through. For now he would just allow Garth to provide what he needed most his whole life. Love and affection. Besides, he was the only one who had ever offered to care for him so he would stick with Garth. Feeling a bit lighter, he allowed himself to relax again in Garth’s arms and he once again let sleep take him...

 

 

## (John’s POV)

## 

John yawned and stretched as his feet found London’s soil. He smiled happily to himself. He was finally back at London and he couldn’t be happier. He had really missed the city but the real reason for this ridiculous happiness was actually the person he came to call his best friend. The person who he knew cared about more than anything and anyone in this world. The person who he was undeniably in love with and had screwed up big time but that didn’t matter anymore. Because John was here now and he’d make sure everything would be okay from now on.

Mary sighed next to him as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. She was curious of course as to why they were leaving earlier from their honeymoon. Curious and angry but she hadn’t made a scene as John had thought. Honestly the ex army doctor hadn’t talked to his wife yet. He wanted to short things out with Sherlock first so when he actually talked to her, he’d be sure he was doing the same thing. Despite Molly’s words, John was still very nervous because he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that the mad genius actually returned his feelings. But he would make damn sure to find out and correct the biggest mistake he had ever made when he left Sherlock to marry Mary.

“Right, so you’re leaving?” he heard his wife asking from the bathroom.

They’d just arrived home and John was already getting ready to go Sherlock’s (their?) apartment. He couldn’t wait to see his best friend again and he definitely couldn’t wait to talk to him. Of course he understood that it would be extremely awkward at first but he had faith that the evening would find them both wrapped around each other on Sherlock’s couch, or if he was lucky enough, in Sherlock’s bed. But these were just John’s dreams and he didn’t want to just dream about Sherlock anymore, he wanted to have the man alive in front of him and being able to kiss and hug and love him whenever he wanted in front of anyone. There was nothing that he wanted more than that now.

“Yeah, I’m going to see Sherlock. I’ll probably be late, don’t wait up” he screamed at her and moved towards the door.

He knew he wasn’t being fair with Mary. She was really nice and hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t her fault he had fallen in love with Sherlock and was too scared to admit it to himself. But right now his anticipation was so big that he couldn’t care less who he offended and how he treated other people. He didn’t want to have to deal anyone that wasn’t Sherlock today. Molly was right, it was so easy to come to terms with his own feelings that he was surprised it had taken him so long and had actually needed help.

John felt his heart beat faster as he hailed a cab. He said the address to the cabbie and he sat on the backseats. He searched in his pockets with his hand until he found what he was looking for and brought it near his face. He still had the key to their flat and maybe he could surprise Sherlock since he didn’t know they were coming today. John smiled at the thought. Sherlock sprawled on his couch being either bored out of his mind or working on a case, having his eyes closed and his hands under his chin in his usual praying pose, likely traveling somewhere in his mind palace. He would probably wear only his night gown or maybe he’d be wrapped in a sheet and nothing more. Typical Sherlock. John would barge into the living room and scare Sherlock half to death. Then he’d have to endure Sherlock being mad at him promising revenge and finally they’d both settle down laughing and John would finally get his chance to talk to him. He had rehearsed his speech like five hundred times back at Greece so there was no way he’d mess this up.

When the cab arrived at its destination, John hopped out and paid the driver. He stood there for a while just looking at the only building he could bear to call home. He felt a smile at his face as he pushed his key inside the keyhole and let the door open gently. He had to be quiet if he wanted to catch Sherlock off guard. He then proceeded to climb the stairs as quietly as possible. It was late at night and Mrs. Hudson was probably asleep, which was a good thing considering that had she been awake, she’d have tried to chat up with John and without a doubt Sherlock would hear them.

He could see a faint light trickling down from the flat and onto the staircase, a clear sign that Sherlock once again hadn’t bothered to close the door properly. John sighed in exasperation. One day, Sherlock would come back home to find himself in a very unpleasant situation having left the door open, practically inviting every criminal, who might have a problem with him, to come and murder him. Likely, John would have the privilege to be there by his side and save him, giving his life if necessary. It was no secret that John would die to protect his beloved detective without a second thought.

Right before he arrived at the top of the staircase, John froze at a sound coming from inside the flat. He listened carefully, body pressed against the wall of the staircase trying to figure out what was that noise he heard. It was absolutely quiet in the hallway as well as in the flat, no music, hardly any street noise slipping in, just the sound he had just heard. But what could have made that noise? He waited and listened. There it was again. And again. From a turned down TV perhaps, he wondered, then reminded himself that Sherlock never watched the telly voluntarily.

No, it was not a noise coming from a machine. That was clearly a very human noise. Like slow whimpers coming from the living room. Was that his Sherlock making those quiet whimpers? Was he being attacked? Was he hurt in some way? John immediately felt a rush of adrenaline washing over him as he tiptoed the last remaining steps to the flat. What if the intruder was still inside trying to finish Sherlock off? John was completely unarmed. Not that it made a difference. John would try to save Sherlock even if he was being attacked by devil himself.

The army doctor approached the door as carefully as he could manage and glanced through the crack, ready to jump in if he had to. But no matter what he had done, he could not have possibly been prepared for the sight that greeted him. He froze like a statue, his eyes widening as his mind went all blank. He could not have been prepared for that sight. A sight that was worse than John’s worst nightmares. Sherlock was not being attacked. He was unquestionably having sex with another man in the middle of the floor in their living room!

John felt week on his knees and his eyes were blurry. He felt he couldn’t breathe and he had to grasp the wall otherwise he would have collapsed. He swore he could feel his heart breaking at the sight of another man holding Sherlock down and offering him the pleasure John thought only he had the right to. Despite his eyes watering, he just couldn’t stop watching the two men on the floor dancing around their own circle of lust and love making. John thought he knew heart ache. His wife was an assassin who had lied to him. His best friend had jumped off a rooftop while he watched. But none of these could ever be compared with what he was feeling at this very moment. John was paralyzed. There was no misunderstanding at what he was seeing. There was Sherlock, his Sherlock, writhing on the floor under a taller man, being fucked by him and clearly enjoying it very much, hense the whimpers coming from his mouth.

John could feel a whimper coming out of his mouth too and before he realized what he was doing, he had turned around and ran down the stairs, not caring about the noise he made anymore because apparently the men were too preoccupied to notice him. He left the building without even bothering to close the door behind him. It had started to raining and the ex army doctor felt the cold air of London on his skin. At some point he could feel his cheeks being wet but he couldn’t understand if it was the rain or his own tears. He began running trying to replace the pain he felt in his heart with the one he started to feel at his feet and lungs. He was too late, he had lost everything. He had blown his last chance with Sherlock forever. He was stupid to believe that the man would wait him forever, he had gone and gotten married anyway, it was his own fault. Ha had lost everything.

But John had left far too quickly. He had seen the other man pining Sherlock down, drawing his legs up, truly fucking him, hard, brutal trusts, overriding the detective’s moans with biting kisses. John had been ashamed of himself but God, the mere sight of Sherlock had him aroused and desperate to touch himself. Thing is he was so upset and the angle was not good so he hadn’t seen the tears staining Sherlock’s beautiful face, couldn’t feel the weight of the blonde man pining him down, forcing breath from his lungs, John couldn’t hear the whispers in Sherlock’s ears, the words that finally undid the detective as he went limp beneath the other man’s assault. All John could register was Sherlock gasping for breath, gasping like he was coming, and that’s all it took for the good doctor to leave. He hadn’t stayed to see how the muscular man had started fucking Sherlock, pushing into him with force just shy of violence, uncaring of the younger man’s comfort until he came himself. He hadn’t seen him groaning as he filled Sherlock with come, his body blotting out the detective’s pale limbs as he slapped him once before he pulled himself up and got dressed.

John hadn’t seen any of this. He’d only seen his one and true love making love with another man. He had only felt the desperation growing inside of him until he realized that he was still running and he couldn’t breathe. He stopped abruptly and fall on his knees in the middle of the road as loud sobs wracked his strong body. He cried with his head in his hands, knowing that the last hope was now gone. Because he had been a blind idiot and a bloody coward. If he had admitted his feelings sooner, Sherlock would have been his now, he would never let him go and they’d be together for the rest of their lives. But now it was too late.

The ex soldier slowly got up and began walking again under the rain that did no more damage to his already soaked face and broken heart. He wandered aimlessly to the streets until he slowly became one with the dark sky and disappeared into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit that I got the idea of how John will find out about Sherlock and Garth, once he's back, from the fanfic "In Clear View" by theSeventhStranger in which John goes to the flat and finds Sherlock receiving a blowjob by his boyfriend. It is such an amazing fanfic and I absolutely recommend it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yey we finally see Greg and I personally love writing about him in this chapter! Like I promised he's the first one to notice the signs about Sherlock's abuse and he is more than willing to do something about it. Please ignore the mistakes!

“John” Mary shouted from the kitchen.

John ignored her. He was sitting on the couch with his knees pulled to his chest and had buried his head in his hands. He wanted so desperately to forget last night but all he could think about was Sherlock with this man. All he saw whenever he closed his eyes was that stranger pining Sherlock down and thrusting into him. He couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact that Sherlock belonged to someone that wasn’t John. He didn’t want to accept it. Sherlock, _his_ Sherlock, who never felt any kind of affection to anyone other than his best friend and flat mate, was in a relationship and was having sex with a man John had never seen himself. On the fucking floor! Had they been having sex on the table as well? Or on the couh? Or God forbid, on John’s old armchair? John had to shut his mouth in order to stop himself from throwing up on the carpet.

“John!” Mary screamed again louder.

“What?” John jumped startled. “What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Didn’t you hear me the first three times?” Mary complained coming to the living room. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine. What did you want?” John was in no mood for anything and especially not in a mood for an interrogation from his wife.

“I just wanted to ask if you would like to go out for dinner tonight after your shift at the clinic” she said and crossed her arms on her chest.

“Honey, maybe tomorrow. I’m not in the mood today”.

“I can see that. Is it too much to ask what’s happened?”

“Nothing happened” John insisted.

“You were fine yesterday, until you went to see Sherlock. Once you returned it was too late and you were soaked wet and I couldn’t get a word out of you. You completely ignored me and went to bed immediately. I’m not a genius but my guess that something happened. Something that has to do with Sherlock. Did you two have a fight last night?” She came and sat next to John gently rubbing his arm.

John felt a bit guilty. It was true that ever since they returned, he had ignored Mary and neglected her. It wasn’t her fault that Sherlock now had a boyfriend. If anything it was probably his own fault for being a coward and refusing to asmit the truth even to himself. But Sherlock was dead, damn it, he had left him, he had left. How was John supposed to know that he was still alive out there somewhere playing hide and seek? Even when he returned, John was too blinded by his anger and he didn’t want to open his eyes and see what was clear to everyone else. He had refused his feelings, refused Sherlock and now he was paying the price. As for Mary, she definitely deserved better than John was treating her. He sighed and leaned to her side letting her wrap both her arms around him and hug him tightly. He felt somewhat better.        

“Yeah, I guess you could say that” he spoke softly.

“John, stop acting like children. Go and talk to him” Mary said.

John looked at her carefully. If only she knew… if only she knew that last night when they were at bed and she’d hugged him, all he could imagine was Sherlock’s naked body the way he’d see it lying underneath that man. Except in John’s dream, he was the one looming above the detective, kissing every part he could reach, worshiping his body. In John’s dream, Sherlock would hold him tight, press his body against his, touching him everywhere and he would whisper John’s name all over like a prayer. Dream Sherlock was open and begging John to take him all beautiful and pliant. Of course he had woken up harder than ever and had to hurry his way to the bathroom to take care of his problem before his wife found out and offered to help. It would be impossible to have Mary pleasuring him while thinking about a certain consultant detective. Of course, after that it was very difficult to act normal around Mary this morning.

“I might meet him again sometime this week” he forced himself to say.

“I’m not worried. You two will be fine, you always are. It’s a common thing to fight and then make up. You can’t stay mad at Sherlock, John. Besides, you two are meant to stay close and get into trouble all the time. It’s like you were made for each other” she laughed.

It was a kind laugh but John winced mentally at her words. Of course they were made for each other; it was so obvious that John wanted to punch himself and his stupid genius friend for not having noticed before. But now here he was, wanting to forget the dream hi had last night, trying all so desperately to get that image out of his mind, only to have his wife of all people to remind him how much he ought to be with Sherlock. It was a tragic situation and under different circumstances he’d have laughed but now all he really wanted to do was cry. Well, in fact, all he really wanted to do was turn back the time when Sherlock first appeared to him after two years in that bloody restaurant. He would do everything differently. He would have apologized to Mary and kiss the madman before him instead of punch him. He would then take him back to Baker Street where they’d crawl into Sherlock’s bed, because they’d never made it to John’s bedroom, and make love to each other.

“John, you asleep?” Mary nudged him.

“No. Just thinking”.

“So, are you gonna see him again today?” She asked slowly and before John had a chance to reply she continued: “Because if you’re not gonna see him today, I must tell you that we’re definitely going for dinner”.

John groaned and laughed at the same time. His wife knew how to cheer him up, that was certain. He felt confused again. Did this mean that he and Sherlock could never be together and he was just acting ungratefully? Should he just stay with his wife, who he loved and loved him back and forget all the crazy imaginations about Sherlock? That would be the right thing, right? He wanted to talk to someone again. He knew he should call Molly again. Or better, he would go to Bart’s so they could talk in person. But for now, there was another person he wanted to see.

“Actually, Mary, I’m so sorry but I forgot to tell you that I have already plans for tonight” John said and left his wife’s hands.

“Oh?” she looked at him questioningly.

“Yeah. In fact, I was planning to go for some pints with my old friend, who I haven’t seen in quite some time” he said and reached for his phone.

“Mike?” she yawned but didn’t protest.

“Greg”.

***

 

 

When John entered the pub he saw immediately the older man sitting in a table with a pint already in front of him. The doctor smiled to himself as he slowly approached the detective inspector. Greg smiled at him in greeting and slightly pulled his grey hair. They hadn’t seen each other from John’s wedding and John had to admit he had missed the two of them getting out for some drinks together and discuss their problems and news. Something he could never to with Sherlock since the man didn’t miss a chance to ridicule the inspector. But there were never hard feelings, John knew very well that Greg cared deeply and loved Sherlock like his son and the detective in return respected the older man and loved him, even if he would never admit it to anyone.

“Hi” John said cheerfully and sat down next to the other man. “How’s it going. Haven’t seen you for quite some time”.

“Yeah, I know. Didn’t expect anything else. Married life and all…” Greg didn’t seem upset or angry. He was a married man himself after all.

“No, no, it’s not gonna be like that. You’ll still get to see me” John assured.

“I know. You’re still gonna come around solving crimes with Sherlock, right? To tell you the truth, I’m surprised your wife’s willing to put up with that but in all honesty I can’t imagine you not doing it. I mean staying away from Sherlock, not be partners in crime… you know” he smiled awkwardly.

John sighed again. It was getting a bit tiresome, having everyone telling him how much he and Sherlock needed each other and how they were meant to be together. No, he was not gonna start thinking about that now.

“Mary is amazing” he felt he had to praise her. “And yeah, to be honest I couldn’t imagine me doing anything else either”.

“So, how is he?” Greg asked and raised his hand so the waiter would bring them both a beer.

“Who?” asked John dumbstruck.

“Sherlock” replied Greg and eyed John as if he was an idiot.

“You mean you haven’t seen him? Hasn’t he gone to the yard at all?” John asked genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, but only once. We had a case, he solved it and then didn’t show up again. I tried calling him two days ago but he wouldn’t reply so I left him to it. I thought he might need some time to himself now that you were away”.

John frowned. That didn’t sound like Sherlock. If there was a case, Sherlock would drop everything he was doing to dash at yard and helped. And there was no way he hadn’t heard his phone. The thing was practically surgically attached to the man. So, what had happened? And then a dark thought crossed John’s mind. Maybe Sherlock was too busy with his new partner and didn’t have time for cases anymore. Maybe he had found something that pleased him more than a triple homicide. His face immediately lost all the glee and he became quieter. Greg didn’t miss his miserable expression.

“John?” he asked. “What is it?”

“I don’t know” he answered. “Maybe he’s just too busy with other things”.

“Other things?” Greg asked and lifted his eyebrows.

John shifted uncomfortable in his chair. He really didn’t want to talk about it. He had hoped that maybe Greg would give him some clues about Sherlock’s behavior at the crime scenes but now it turned out that the man didn’t go at all to the yard! Was he really that happy with his boyfriend that he didn’t need the thrill of the case and the danger? And if he was, then why wasn’t it enough for John who was not just in a relationship but he was bloody married?

“Greg, there’s something you must know”. He swallowed and continued. “Sherlock is in a relationship”.

Greg’s expression was something John had never seen before. He would have roared with laughter if the reason for the detective inspector’s apparent surprise wasn’t so painful to him.

“A relationship?” John nodded. “What do you mean, he’s in a relationship?”

John sighted. He was getting nervy now.

“I mean in a relationship, he’s bloody dating someone” he shouted a bit louder than what he had wanted.

Greg winced. There were many thoughts running through his head. He was mostly worried about drugs but that he had not expected. _A relationship_? Was that even possible? Sherlock didn’t do relationships, it was not his area, he didn’t even pursue this sort of things and he had never showed any kind of interest towards anyone. None of his actions ever indicated that he was looking for a partner and he had made it painfully obvious to everyone that he was better off alone.

“Are you sure?” Greg asked slowly.

“Of course I’m sure. I fucking saw them” he bit his lip. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that to Greg but he felt really frustrated.

“Well, I didn’t see that coming” said the other man drinking from his beer.

“That’s all you have to say?” John asked again surprised.

Greg shrugged.

“What do you want me to say? Sherlock’s an adult, if he wants to be with someone, he will be with whoever he likes and let’s be honest with ourselves, he’s a very fine bloke”.

“A very fine bloke?” John repeated.

“Yes, John. I know you’re not gay, but don’t tell me you don’t find him even a little bit attractive”.

“I don’t” John said far too quickly.

“I don’t believe that. You lived with him. You mean to tell me that you don’t like his appearance? Not even a little bit?” John opened his mouth but Greg interrupted him. “I know, I know, you’re not gay, you don’t like men but come on. I refuse to believe that you don’t find him at least a little good looking”.

John closed his mouth. He wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. He wanted to scream and laugh and then cry for he found Sherlock the most beautiful creature on this world. And yet here he was sitting opposite Greg denying what was obvious to everyone who had eyes. Sherlock was an attractive person to everyone, no matter gay, straight, male or female. So why did he so stubbornly deny it?

“Not really” he whispered mentally wondering what the hell he was doing.

Greg sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Okay. Not that it matters but just for the sake of it. Close your eyes and think about Sherlock”.

John eyed him suspiciously.

“I don’t mean like porn, Jesus, John. Just think about him at some point of the day, you of all people should be able to do that easily. Now I want you to concentrate on him and try to imagine what it would be like to touch him. Or being touched by him. Just try to imagine”.

Greg’s thoughts weren’t at all that innocent and he was manipulating John, knowing exactly what he wanted to succeed with this. John’s attraction to the man was obvious even to the most idiotic person but for some reason the army doctor was being stubborn and refused to admit it. Now that he was a bit drunk, Greg was determined to make his friend to come to terms with it so they could get over it. He had no idea of the results of this experiment of course as he watched the shorter man doing as he told. His reactions though were a lot more interesting than Greg would have ever dared to imagine.

John tried to relax and let his thoughts drift in ways he would not previously allow. Straight or gay, there was no denying that Sherlock was beautiful. Those cheekbones that John used to admire. Those soft curls framing his face, contrasting his pale complexion. Cat-like eyes and always being so... unpredictable. That thin but strong body, like one of a dancer’s. The slender waist and those long hands that could dissect a cadaver without a tremble but also play the violin so beautifully it brought tears to your eyes. And those lips… those full lips that looked so soft and probably would feel really nice to taste…

 _John pictured Sherlock on the sofa, sleeping after an exhausting case. He imagined leaning over him to brush his lips against Sherlock’s, waking him up. _Sherlock would smile, his body all warm and pliant from sleep, and he would put his arms around John and pull him down on top of him. John would support some of his weight on his lower arms but would lean the rest on Sherlock, pressing him down, kissing him deeper. He could almost feel Sherlock’s tongue make contact with his own as they’d taste each other for a while, and then John would move down to kiss him on the neck, biting and sucking his earlobe._  _At this he pictured Sherlock moaning, remembering the sounds he had made last night.

_He would untie Sherlock’s dressing gown and he would start kissing further down, until he would be licking his left nipple with a pointed tongue while rolling and pinching the right one between his index finger and his thumb. Sherlock would let out a moan so needing that it would feel like it’s sending an electrical current to John’s erection, and John would start to rock his hips against Sherlock’s. John could practically feel Sherlock’s hard cock pushing back up against his own, and suddenly they were not wearing any clothes._

_John would watch as Sherlock would take them both in his hand and start to stroke in a sensual, burning rhythm, both of them slick with precum. Sherlock would be whispering John’s name again and again. In his imagination, John was half sitting, half lying on top of Sherlock, his hands squeezing Sherlock’s creamy chest and shoulders, leaning down, their lips and tongues meeting hungrily._

_John would move his hand in between their lips, and press two fingers into Sherlock’s mouth, their cocks would still be rubbing together in Sherlock’s grip. Sherlock would quickly takes the hint, like always, and would begin to suck John’s fingers, twirling his tongue around them as John would let his fingers push further in. He would watch Sherlock lean his head back, eyelids fluttering, so turned on by having John’s fingers fuck his mouth._

_And then imagination-Sherlock moved and now they were standing up, John was leaning against the wall with his hands stroking over Sherlock’s lean shoulders, and Sherlock got down on his knees, taking John in his mouth. Sherlock started to do the exact same thing with his tongue again but now it was John’s cock in his mouth, and it was sliding in and almost all the way out, and then back in again._

_He pictured Sherlock holding him there and sucking hard, swallowing him down, his tongue extending flat underneath John’s hardness, and John wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore, and he would come in long, hard strokes right down Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock swallowed most of it but John could see some of his semen making a small trail down from the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock smiled and wipes it with his thumb and then licked it off-_

“Oi!” a loud sound ruined John’s perfect imagination.

He soon realized that he was still at the pub with Greg and he was rock hard by now. He wanted to take his erection in his hand badly but there was no way he’d do it in front of Greg. He opened his eyes immediately and tried to make his massive erection to go away. He didn’t need to be embarrassed in front of Greg even though it served him right. He had realized what the older man was trying to do and yet he had allowed it.

“Shit, shit. Fuck” John cursed and shifted in his chair.

Greg tried to control himself for the sake of his friend but it was nearly impossible. Right in front of John, he burst out laughing so hard that actual tears run from his eyes. He tried to apologize but found he couldn’t even talk.

“Yes, yes, alright, I’ve got it. Point taken” Johm grumped angrily.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry” Greg couldn’t help but keep laughing for the sight in front of him seemed utterly ridiculous. “It’s just that… I know… not attractive at all” he started laughing again until he could no longer breathe and he had to grasp his stomach painfully.

“Very funny, yes” John rubbed his face completely embarrassed.

“It’s okay, John” Greg said as he composed himself. “I was the one who first told you that he’s good looking, nothing to be embarrassed of. Although-” he continued cheerfully drinking some of his beer. “-I would really like to know what kind of an image has Mr. I’m not gay, in that plight!”

John smiled mischievously as there was no point in hiding anymore.

“You don’t want to know”.

“God, you’re right, I probably don’t. And now would probably be a good time to tell you that I’m dating his brother…”

He didn’t have time to continue though as John chocked on his beer and could swear that some actually came out of his nose! He started coughing like crazy and everyone inside the pub turned to look what was happening. John had managed to embarrass himself for a second time that night but he couldn’t care less. Once he had stopped coughing, he started taking deep breaths in order to calm down.  

“So you’re telling me that you and Mycroft… you’re trying to tell me that Mycroft and you… what you mean is that you and he…”

“For the love of God yes, me and he. Is that so hard to believe?”

“To be honest, it kind of is”.

“Why” Greg crossed his arms.

“Have you met the man?” John defended himself but hurried to correct his almost mistake. “No offense, he’s probably great and all but he didn’t seem to me like one who did… dating or any kind of relationship”.

“Neither did Sherlock, I’m sure, but look at us all now” Greg insisted and drank some beer again.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m actually glad for you” John said honestly. It was good that Sherlock had people around him who cared about him.

“Thanks mate”.

“May I ask how long?” John said putting his beer down not sure if he could drink any more.

“You may. Actually there was always something I guess, but officially we started seeing each other a week before your wedding” Greg replied.

“Bloody hell!” John exclaimed surprised.

“Indeed. You didn’t tell me though, who’s the bloke?”

“What bloke?” asked John as he tried to get used to the new information.

“Sherlock’s bloke” Greg specified.

“I didn’t say it was a bloke”.

“You didn’t have to” the tall man smiled. “Despite what he says but doesn’t really believe, I hope, I’m not completely stupid, you know. I can deduce a couple of things for someone myself. Besides, I know Sherlock far too well. Don’t forget that I was the one who…” he shook his head. He didn’t like talking about that.

“I know. And I’ll be forever grateful to you, Greg. Mycroft will be too. Hell, even Sherlock will be, no matter what he says. You’re the one who got him cleaned, Greg. I don’t know exactly the story but I know enough to deduce that you care about him and that you saved his life” John was serious again.

Greg nodded. He left it there. He could tell the story and God, what a story it was. There were so much more to this boy he’d met than what John could see but wasn’t his place to tell him. It was someone else’s story and it was only Sherlock who had a right to tell John if he wanted and whenever he felt like he should.

“So… the bloke. Do we know him?” he broke the silence.

“No. At least I didn’t. Never seen him before, I don’t think you know him either”. John finished his beer.

“Name?”

“I don’t know” John admitted and sighed when the other eyed him suspiciously.

“I haven’t officially met him, okay?” he elaborated. “I just saw them”.

“That’s all? You saw them what, kissing? Making out? Hugging and you thought they were in a relationship? God, John, it’s Sherlock we’re talking about, this could be just a damn case, you know him”.

“You said he didn’t show up at yard anymore” John sighed.

“Maybe a private client” Greg said again.

“They weren’t kissing, Greg… They were…” he closed his eyes and tightened his fists. “Even Sherlock wouldn’t do that just for a case. I know what I saw”.

“Okay, fine, I got it” Greg retreated in understanding. “He’s in a relationship. What are you so upset about?”

“What? I’m not… I just wished he had told me so that I’d have been prepared” John said. It was half true. Had he known, he wouldn’t have bothered to return to London before he had managed to come to terms with his feelings.

“Okay, I get it, you wanted to know. But John, did you think that maybe Sherlock didn’t tell you because he was afraid of your reaction?”

“What? That’s absurd!” John all but shouted. Why would Sherlock be afraid? There was no way in the worlds he knew how John felt about him.

“But if you calm down and think about it you’ll see my point. You spent the two years you lived with him screaming at everyone that you weren’t gay and you didn’t like men. You sounded so offended that at times even I thought you were… you know… homophobic. I’m not saying you are, I’m just saying it kind of looked like it. Maybe Sherlock was afraid that if he told you that he liked a man, you’d be disgusted or even afraid and you would never look at him the same way again. It’s a fear I understand” Greg finished his speech.

“I would never do that. He should know better” John accused. “I would never judge a person for what or who they like. And I strongly disapprove of anyone who does” he shook his head.

“I know” Greg lifted his arms in defense. “That’s why I told you about me. I’m just saying it might be the reason why Sherlock didn’t tell you. Maybe he just didn’t want you to know or maybe it’s something new and doesn’t know if it’ll last. The possibilities are countless John. The only way you can sure is if you ask Sherlock. Anyway, I’m thinking about passing over tomorrow, see how he’s doing and ask for a bit of advice. Want me to check things over?”

“If you could” John said.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Greg smiled.

“What does?”

“That he is with someone… someone else”.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” John insisted and Greg shook his head again.

“Whatever you say”.

After that they called it a night and both went home. John didn’t speak at all during the ride to his house. He kept thinking about what Greg told him? Could it be that his best friend thought so little about him that he was afraid to tell him his own preferences? Was he really that bad of a friend? Involuntarily his thoughts traveled back to the imagination he had at the pub. He felt himself becoming erect again and tried to think about something else. He would soon be home and the last thing he could deal with this night was Mary and a sexual playtime. But he had made up his mind. Tomorrow, he was going to confront Sherlock and clear things up. Tomorrow…

 

##  _(Sherlock’s POV)_

 

 

Sherlock was lying to his couch as usually. Thank Goodness Garth had left and Sherlock had finally some time to relax. Last night had been considerably better as the other man had just cuddle with him and slept without demanding sex, claiming o be exhausted from his work. Sherlock didn’t believe him for one second but he wasn’t going to complain about it. He was so bored and desperate to have a case, he could practically feel his brain cells rotting.

He heard the bell ringing and for a moment he felt panic as he thought it might be Garth who returned earlier but soon dismissed the thought, remembering that the man had now taken his keys, ordering Sherlock not to leave the flat before he returned. The detective shivered and winced at how pathetic he had become within a matter of a few days. The door opened and closed and he thought that Mrs. Hudson must have let whoever it was in. Thank God, the woman hadn’t realized what was happening in the house, she just thought that Sherlock was seeing someone and that was all. The detective secretly wished it wasn’t his brother again for he couldn’t deal with another interrogation. He knew it was only a matter of time before his brother found out about the bruises and the scars no matter how much Sherlock tried to hide them.

“Sherlock”

He breathed in relief at Lestrade’s voice.

“Lestrade” came the reply. “How have you been, haven’t seen you in ages”. His tone was cold but he was incredibly happy that Greg was here, secretly hoping that he needed help with a case.

“Yeah, well you haven’t been coming down at the Yard. What have you been up to?” Greg asked as he stood in the middle of the living room taking everything in. His eyes finally rested on the detective who looked good.

“Ah, yes, I was… sick. Must’ve been the flue” Sherlock replied immediately.

Greg frowned. In all his life he didn’t remember a time when Sherlock was sick and moreover he couldn’t imagine a time when this would stop him at getting involved in a case. But he didn’t comment on it.

“Well, are you feeling better now? Any chance you might help with a new case?”

“What is it about?” Sherlock couldn’t hide his excitement as he jumped out of the couch.

“A female soldier accuses her platoon leader of sexual assault. I know it might sounds boring to you but it’s really important and there are no proofs but the woman looks honest to me and well… I need your help”.

“I’ll take the case” Sherlock replied. He was getting mad from doing nothing that he was willing to help with anything.

“Really? Good. Well, come at my office to tell you the details. What you need to know now is…” Greg stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as he looked dumbstruck at Sherlock’s exposed, lean arm which was covered in a large bruise. The purple-black shape contradicted the snow-white skin on the detective’s arm and looked awful. Sherlock followed his look and immediately covered the exposed skin bringing the sleeve of his shirt down and couched.

“An accident” he hurried to explain and didn’t say anything else.

Greg looked at him and noticed the swelling eye. His right eye had no doubt taken a punch and a strong one since it now appeared to start healing.

“Sherlock…” Greg tried to approach him.

“An accident” growled the detective who flinched away. “Nothing you need to worry about”.

Greg shook his head. John had seen him two days ago. He would have mentioned a black eye or anything that might have looked bad on Sherlock. And he had said that he was sick so he mustn’t have left the flat or do anything reckless. So what? A bruise that big and a swelling eye could only mean he’d had a fight with someone. Could it possibly be… no, no way.

“Lestrade” Sherlock hissed in irritation. “Leave it, it was just an accident, have you never had one?” Sherlock was biting his lip. He was not convincing, he only did that when he was thinking and what could he be thinking now? A believable excuse.

“You know that no matter what you can come to me, right? You can talk to me and I will help you…” he started.

“No, no, no” Sherlock interrupted in disgust. “I do not need to hear another lecture like the one my brother would give me if he was here. He’s made you like him, you know that? You’re getting bloody insufferable too”.

Attack was often the best defense and the more Greg watched him, the more he realized that Sherlock was hiding something. Something that was not good.

“Alright. An accident” he said and took a step back. “I’m just saying if you ever need anything… you know where to find me. Don’t hesitate. I must be going now, you come and discuss the details for the case… you’ll take it, right?”

“I’ll take it” reassured Sherlock who looked more relaxed now that he thought Lestrade had believed him.

“Okay then, I’ll see you soon”.

Lestrade left the building and immediately took out his mobile to call his boyfriend. Mycroft picked up at the third ring.

“What is it, Gregory? I’m really busy”.

“I think there’s something terribly wrong with Sherlock”.

There was a small pause.

“I’m listening”.

“He’s seeing someone” Greg said.

“I know. So?”

“Do you know who it is?” Greg pressured.

“No, Gregory, I don’t. Why is it any concern of yours?”

“Myc… I think that… look I saw something really weird and we need to examine it further. I could be wrong but…”

“For the love of God, what is it?” Mycroft sounded on edge.

“I have reasons to believe that if this is a relationship, it’s not a healthy one. I mean… well…” he didn’t know how to say it to Mycroft knowing that the man would not hesitate to kidnap and kill the man who abused his brother without waiting to be sure. He was a very patient man but not when it came to his little brother. But then again Sherlock was far too smart to allow himself to be manipulative or mistreated.

“Gregory, you intend to tell me before I have a stroke?” Mycroft interrupted his thoughts.

“Mycroft, do you remember how Sherlock started doing drugs? You’ve told me the story but I don’t know the details. I was at his flat and John told me that he saw him with someone and I found some… indications that… and please know that I’m not sure but…” he sighed. “I saw some bruises and a swelling eye” he said far too quickly that he wasn’t sure if Mycroft had heard him.

There was silence on the other side on the phone. And then Mycroft whispered the only word that Greg had hoped he wouldn’t say.

“Garth…”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than the other because I'll update again on Friday or Saturday - you know, exams :( If you want, tell me your ideas at your comments!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yey! Because I think I've made it painfully obvious how much John loves Sherlock, in this chapter I have focused on how much Sherlock loves John too! Sorry for any mistakes, I hope you enjoy!

Sherlock was sitting on his couch with his hands stippled under his chin in a praying position. He would turn his head every now and then to glance at the clock on the wall. He was bored out of his mind again. He wanted so desperately to go to the Yard and talk with Lestrade about the details for this new case but he knew better than that. Garth would be mad if he came back and didn’t find Sherlock at the flat. He would definitely throw a tantrum and the detective knew it wasn’t worth it. The case wasn’t one that made him thrilled but it was better than nothing, something to keep his mind occupied and escape the pain that was slowly spreading through his entire body. He had taken a shower this morning and he could barely look at himself. He couldn’t stand to observe all the bruises and the cuts on his body because every one of them reminded him of the horrors that had been done to him. He hated the very sight of him. Self-hate. Garth was making him hate himself again, like he used to do back at when he was going to university. And Sherlock was letting him win again. He was trying really hard not to go back to his old habits. He had promised to his brother that he would never hurt himself again but now he was craving to feel the razor in his flesh, the dark blood oozing his white skin, Garth always loved the sight, and the pain washing away the memories until he would forget who he was.       

A text alert interrupted his thoughts and for a second he was grateful. He didn’t like the new direction his thoughts had taken. Inside his mind palace he could feel an old wing opening again and he was terrified that this time, the darkness inside of his head would swallow him forever. The monsters who lived there were all too familiar with him, almost his friends, as they kept him company in his darkest times. Truth is that with Garth, Sherlock had felt for the first time what fear really was. Garth had taught him to be afraid and submissive and now he hated how it almost came naturally to him, as he was born being submissive and obedient to this man. He was beginning to hate himself again.

He picked his mobile phone and took a look at the screen mentally preparing himself for another idea of dirty playing with Garth. The older man had made it a habit, ever since Sherlock stopped resisting him, to engage into different roles, always trying to stimulate the detective erotically. Needless to say that Sherlock hated every second of their “games”. Sometimes Garth would force Sherlock to come and the other man wouldn’t fight him. He never fought him anymore. The worst times were when Sherlock’s body actually responded to Garth’s ministration when he was ordering Sherlock or whenever he tried to dominate him. These times, the detective had to try very hard not to kill himself afterwards as he was feeling betrayed by his own body and somehow managed to convince himself that he deserved all that. He was afraid that since that was the only kind of sex he ever knew, his body would now only respond to that, would only want that and he couldn’t stand the idea that he would spend the rest of his life being someone’s “pet”, willing to satisfy their needs and fulfill their disgusting demands.

Hey, you busy? Can we please meet today, there’s something I need to discuss with you.

John… Sherlock’s heart leapt to his chest. John had returned in London! John was back! An irrational yet incredibly strong hope flood Sherlock’s heart and he immediately put a stop to it. He didn’t want to have a false hope again, only to have it ripped from him like so many times in the past. He only wished he could gather the courage and talk to his brother. But a small part of him, a part he hated with all his might, was telling him that it was too dangerous. Garth was crazy, what if he hurt the people he cared about? There weren’t a lot of people Sherlock really cared about, but once he gave his heart to someone, it would be forever and he would go to great lengths to protect them… Deep inside he knew that’s why he hadn’t gone to Mycroft yet. Garth was the most terrible person he’d ever met. But he was also his first true love and he knew that if his brother found out, he would most likely kill the man with his bare hands and a twisted part of him didn’t want that, despite the unspeakable things Garth had done to him. It was that forever thing that he hated… that’s why he was always rude to everyone and didn’t let anyone in. He knew that once he truly loved someone, he wouldn’t be able to forget them. And it seemed that his heart and devotion were the two things that got him hurt the most, first with Garth and now with John since he was what Sherlock could never have. What he could never deserve to call his.

But if he wanted a chance, shouldn’t he talk to Mycroft? Shouldn’t he get some help? No, Mycroft would lose his temper. No matter what he said, Sherlock knew that his brother cared for him. Whether it was out of real brotherly love or out of him feeling compelled to protect him because they were siblings, he didn’t know. No, that wouldn’t do. What if he talked to Lestrade? The man had said that if he ever needed something, he could always go to him. He had saved him from the drugs and Sherlock respected him. He loved him as a father figure and he wanted pretty badly to ask for help. But he didn’t know if it was a good idea. Garth was unpredictable, a complete lunatic and obsessed with him. What if he hurt Lestrade? Or worse… What if he found out about John and killed him? That last thought was enough to make Sherlock flinch and shake his head violently. He would never allow that to happen. He quickly typed back a reply.

_Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a new case and I’m rather busy. –SH_

He sighed disappointed with himself and cradled the phone in his chest. He wanted nothing more than go and see John. His entire being wanted more than anything to be close to his blogger once again, hug him (more like burry himself in the other’s strong arms, whatever’s convenient), kiss him and crawl over to his bed together and stay pressed against each other for the rest of their lives. Was that so much to ask? He sighed before a reply came. He knew it was.

New case? Want some help then?

The detective cursed as he once again felt that warm feeling to his belly spreading to the rest of his body. The doctor sounded so eager and hopeful and Sherlock wanted nothing more to run after criminals with John again. How could he say no that? How could he ever say no to John at all? And yet here he was, holding his mobile to a vice grip, squishing it hard and trying to get himself to reply without passing out on the floor.

_No, doesn’t look like a difficult one, I’m not gonna need you this time. Give my regards to Mary. –SH_

Not a bloody “hi how are you?”. Not a typical “did you have fun at your honeymoon?” Not even a “why did you return early? Is it because you’ve missed me, as much as I’ve missed you?”. Of course he didn’t. Sherlock had to restrain himself not to throw the phone to the floor and step on it until it was broken to a million pieces unrepaired. Just like his heart was. This was ridiculous. He was pining over a man who didn’t think of him as more than a friend and to keep him safe he was being raped and abused every day, letting himself slip more and more into depression. Was John Watson worth it? Sherlock smiled sadly, for he had the answer to his inner thoughts for the first time. He, of all people knew well that John Watson deserved so much more than that. And he would give it to him, if only the man would let him. If only John asked, he would give him everything. But then again, he was afraid that he had nothing more to give.

Okay then, sorry if I’m interrupting you. Better go back to your thoughts.

Sherlock couldn’t see John but he knew his friend so good that he didn’t have to. He knew that in spite of trying to sound indifferent, John had said it bitterly. He was angry that Sherlock didn’t want him, if not for help then for simple company. Sherlock wanted to laugh at the irony. Oh, if only he knew how much Sherlock wanted his company, not only in this case, but in his life in general… whatever John was willing to give, Sherlock would take and he would be grateful. The detective knew that no matter what he wanted, John would never love him back the same way and that knowledge hurt him too much. It was a rare moment when he wished for ignorance. John had made it so obvious, during their living at Baker Street that he wasn’t gay, that Sherlock had lost every small hope he ever had. He only hoped that the doctor wouldn’t be disgusted with him if he found out that he was with another man. His stomach turned at the thought of John believing Sherlock was in a relationship with someone, thinking that Sherlock could ever be happy with someone other than him.

_I’m sorry, maybe some other time…? –SH_

Was it too desperate? He hoped no but he didn’t really care at the moment. He couldn’t handle John being mad at him now. It would kill him to know that John didn’t want to talk to him or speak to him because he believed that Sherlock was avoiding him. And when he found out about his “relationship” because once they met, Garth would make sure to mark his territory. He got rather possessive with his belongings. That’s what he considered Sherlock. His toy, his propriety. A thing he could play and satisfy his needs with until he got bored. And when that happened, there was punishment, like it was Sherlock’s fault and his responsibility to keep Garth entertained. Although he had to admit that ever since he stopped fighting, sec with Garth was a lot less painful.

Yes, of course. Text me when you’re available. 

The detective almost wept in relief. John wasn’t mad at him then. He still wanted to see him. He would have cried then and there had he not heard the door opening and shutting downstairs. Garth was back earlier, he could hear him talking with Mrs. Hudson. The man had her totally fooled. Not that he blamed the poor woman of course, he knew what a manipulative bastard Garth could be and Mrs. Hudson was just happy Sherlock had found someone and wasn’t so lonely anymore. If only she knew… the voices stopped and he could hear Garth coming upstairs, could recognize his steps on the stairs. He hurried to send a last text not wanting to leave John waiting for a reply before the other man came.

_Sorry, I’m a bit busy at the moment, I promise I’ll text you soon. –SH_

He quickly put the phone down on the table and rearranged himself on the couch looking as bored as he usually looked at that time of the day. He was right, of course, Garth soon entered the living room and gave him a cheeky smile.

“Hey, love, how are you? Did you get bored while I was away?” he asked.

Sherlock knew this was a trap. The first time Garth had asked him that question, the younger man had hoped that he would let him go out for a walk, or he would allow him a short trip to the Yard and so he had said yes without thinking. He should have considered it better, for Garth had smiled and apologized for neglecting his little “kitten”. Then of course, he had pressed his body to Sherlock’s slender one and had proceeded to fucking him on the kitchen table. After he had emptied himself inside of Sherlock, he had painfully forced the detective to come too on Garth’s chest. Then he had tutted at the mess he’d caused, called Sherlock naughty and then he had force feed him the come until his chest was clean. When he was sleeping in Sherlock’s bed, the slender man had walked to the bathroom in wobbly feet, stuck his hand down his throat and threw up everything that was inside his stomach. Then he tried to wash the bitter taste of his cum off his mouth but to no avail. After that, exhausted as he was, he had passed out on the floor where Garth found him next day.

“No” he answered carefully. “Not bored, just not in a mood”.

“I know what’ll cheer you up” Garth said and he happily pulled Sherlock to his feet. The man froze involuntarily but was soon relieved when all Garth did was hug him and scent his neck, something he did quite often for no apparent reason. But it was the only thing that didn’t really bother Sherlock.

“What?” asked slowly the detective.

“How would you like if we ordered lunch and cuddled on the couch watching a movie?”

Sherlock was stunned when he heard the words. Garth wanted to just cuddle and watch a movie? If that was the case, then Sherlock was not gonna ask further questions or complain. He nodded frantically and smiled as he leaned towards the taller man to saw him his gratitude. Garth only smiled back and rubbed Sherlock’s back gently.

“What do you want to eat? Something nutritious, I could feel your ribs again last night. I like skinny but not that skinny” Garth murmured in Sherlock’s curls.

The detective just hummed and nodded for the first time feeling as a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Garth didn’t want sex, at least not now. He wanted lunch and some cuddle, things that Sherlock was more than willing to provide if it meant that he wouldn’t have to be held down ad fucked again. After all it was these little things that made him like Garth. He knew the man was just playing with his mind, making him love Garth by giving him these little self-evident things but he was so grateful that he played Garth’s game and kissed the taller man on the cheek. Of course Garth smiled again noting a small victory and lifted Sherlock’s chin to kiss him fully on the lips.

And then there was his text alert again. Sherlock jumped in fear. _John…_

Garth frowned at him.

“Aren’t you gonne see who is it from?” he eyed Sherlock carefully.

“No. It’s probably detective inspector who needs my help for some case” he was careful not to mention a name for good measure.

“You’re not interested then?” Garth was looking at him intensely.

Sherlock saw where this was going. No matter what he answered, he would lose something. If he said yes, then Garth would deduce that he was bored and would want to entertain him again. If he said no, Garth would find a way to make Lestrade to not contact him for a very long time again. He sighed in defeat, it was a lost battle.

“No” he said finally.

“Well, then I’ll tell him then not to bother you” Garth winked and reached for the phone on the table.

“No, wait…” but Sherlock was too late. Garth had picked up the phone, unlocked the screen and was now reading the message. When he finished, he looked at Sherlock and frowned. 

“It’s from… John” he spat the name. "Says he can't wait to see you again".

“My old flat mate” Sherlock hurried to reply. “Who got married and just returned from his honeymoon” he hoped that Garth wouldn’t see a threat at John.

“Oh” was all he said. “So, I take it you’re gonna see him then.” It was not a question.

Sherlock didn’t answer. Was there a trap here as well? He could tell, so he chose to remain silent and wait for Garth’s full reaction. He knew this was just a part of it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you started to talk again? I see other messages too” Garth played with the phone in his hand.

Sherlock’s breath caught.

“We only talked today. I was going to tell you” he was breathing hard.

Garth nodded. He wasn’t mad yet, that was a good sign. Could Sherlock hope? Did he even dare to hope?  

“Would you like to meet him again?”

Sherlock looked at him. He was obviously just messing with him. He would never let him see John now that he knew they used to be flat mates.

“Maybe…” and then he continued with a little hope. “Can I?”

Garth thought about it. He was satisfied that Sherlock was asking for permission and didn’t try to manipulate him. He was beginning to be very obedient and deserved a little treatment. Garth knew that if he kept pushing Sherlock, he would brake and maybe he would go as far as to kill himself. He had tried it once in the past. He couldn’t afford another attempt, Sherlock wasn’t a kid anymore and Garth was well aware that if he reached the point of no return, he would die and there was nothing anyone could do. So be it then, he would allow Sherlock this privilege but he would take advantage first.

“Alright” he said finally.

Sherlock stopped breathing. His eyes widened and he tried hard not to pass out again. Had he heard correctly? Garth was actually giving him permission to see John? He could go and see John again? Maybe if Garth saw that he didn’t have to worry about John, he would let Sherlock hang out with John again. Maybe they would be able to go to crime scenes again and things would improve. If he had John in his life, even only as a friend, Sherlock would be able to endure Garth and sex with him and maybe now that Garth wasn’t hurting him so much anymore, he wouldn’t have to ask for help and everyone would be fine. Could things be okay again?

“Re-really?” he rasped.

“Of course” he opened his arms. Sherlock immediately buried himself in Garth’s chest and the other wrapped his hands around him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” Sherlock couldn’t help but mumbling.

“But there’s a little problem” Garth smiled as Sherlock tensed.

“Problem?” he took a step back and looked at Garth who nodded.

“You see, when you go see your old friend, I’ll be really jealous…”

“But he’s married” Sherlock protested. “To a woman!”

“I know, but I can’t help it, baby. I would have to text you every minute of call you and check where you are and what are you doing” he could barely contain his joy when the detective winced. “Of course there might be something you can do so that I can be in peace and don’t have to monitor you”.

“What?” Sherlock asked quickly his eyes filled with hope again.

Garth didn’t say anything. He just smiled mischievously and turned his back to the confused man who just stared at him. The blonde took off his coat and left it on the couch. Then he walked to Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock knew what that meant and he had to try not to vomit. He could do this, he had started getting used to it. He clenched his fist in determination. It was for John, so he could see him again. It was definitely worth it. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock lifted his chin and followed Garth to his bedroom.

Once inside the room, he closed the door behind him and turned to stare at Garth who had already stripped himself and was now lying on Sherlock’s bed watching him. Sherlock gulped and run his hand through his hair. Garth got up and walked to him and took him in his arms. He petted Sherlock’s cheek lovingly in front of the door before he took the man’s hand and led him to the bed where he sat and presented his dick to the dark haired man. Sherlock sighed. He then opened his mouth and the man’s dick pressed past his lips and onto his tongue, making him gag.

“Whenever you’re ready” Garth purred.

Sherlock sucked and Garth moaned above him, easing the man’s head back and forth on his dick.

“Yeah, just like that,” he encouraged as a little drool dripped from Sherlock’s mouth and down his chin, “Nice and wet, keep that suction.” Sherlock choked against the hard flesh pressing against his soft palate as Garth went for a deeper thrust. The taste of him was awful, the feel and the warmth, but it was for John, he was doing that to see John again and have some fun with him. John would make him forget that he ever did that. That he ever agreed to do that.

Sherlock coughed slightly as Sam kept pressing onward, his body fighting back against the intrusion that was trying to get into his throat. “That’s it” Garth cooed down at him, his speed picking up. Sherlock coughed around the dick in his mouth, the blonde man using his opened throat to his advantage and pushing his cock down past Sherlock’s tonsils. Sherlock couldn’t help but gag, his reflexes kicking in and the breakfast in his stomach threatening to come up onto Garth’s crotch. The thrusting continued though, his throat unable to close, and all he could do was clench his eyes tight, try and relax his jaw, and pray the overwhelming urge to bite didn’t win out. Garth groaned as he shoved further down Sherlock’s throat, pushing his face into the rough curls along his pelvis. The urge to vomit was too overwhelming now and Sherlock had to disentangle himself from the other’s cock and take deep breaths. 

“What the…?” Garth opened his eyes and watched as the younger man choked slightly.

“Please” Sherlock begged.

“Alright” Garth sighed. “We’ll take it easier now” he watched as Sherlock thanked him and quickly got back to work.This time Garth wasn’t forcing his dick too far down Sherlock’s throat. The thrusts were shorter and faster, Sherlock’s jaw beginning to ache as he bobbed his head furiously up and down. “Play with the foreskin” Garth instructed and Sherlock attempted to listen. “That’s it kitten… fuck!” Garth’s thighs were quivering under Sherlock’s hands and he could feel his orgasm building up. “Stop!” he said and abruptly pushed Sherlock away from him. The other looked at him dumbstruck. “I wanna come inside you” he explained and got out of bed and headed towards the bathroom.

Sherlock closed his eyes again and held back his tears. Garth soon returned and smiled at him, passing him the lube he went to retrieve from the bathroom. He looked deep into his eyes and for the first time he didn’t have to force Sherlock to do anything. He wanted him to participate willingly. He wanted to make Sherlock believe that he wanted this too. He wanted him a willing participant.

“Prep yourself, love,” Garth commanded, posing it as a suggestion but they both knew it was a suggestion that could not be disobeyed. Sherlock nodded dejectedly, wishing he would have only had to go down on the man that day. He pulled his tight trousers off and tossed them aside, before adding his shirt to the pile. His hands had finally stopped shaking during these activities a few days ago. “You’re gorgeous,” he groaned as Sherlock slid his underwear down his slim legs.

Sherlock closed his eyes before accepting the lubricant gel that Garth had given him. When he reopened his eyes, he saw Garth sitting up on the head of his bed again, fisting his now half erect cock and letting out breathy little pants. Sherlock joined him, positioning himself up on his knees with his legs spread. He popped the tube open and squirted a gob of it into his fingers before leaning forward slightly and pressing two digits into his body.

“That’s it” Garth encouraged, clasping Sherlock’s remaining hand in his free one and bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. “Oh god…” Sherlock continued to prepare himself unenthusiastically, his cheeks growing hot with shame, as he managed three and then four fingers inside both sphincters, knowing anything less wouldn’t be enough for what was to come. He was tired of pain, he didn’t want it anymore and furthermore it was just easier to succumb. “That’s good” Garth interrupted his ministrations, pulling Sherlock off his own fingers and pulling him up the bed so the young man was hovering above him.

“More lube first,” Sherlock pestered, reaching back the bed to the abandoned tube and pushing it into Garth’s hands. Garth grumbled but he obediently slicked himself up, before laying back into the pillows and guiding Sherlock up and onto his dick. The daunting knowledge of what Garth expected him to do made the tears fall freely down his face. But of course Garth didn’t stop urging him on. Sherlock felt too weak as he obediently lifted himself up and straddled Garth’s body. He wrapped his hand around the muscular man’s erection and moved so he was hovering above it.

“Ride it,” Garth instructed and Sherlock flushed. He slowly sunk down onto the thick cock. It stretched him painfully even though he had paid a lot of attention to prepare himself. “Ugh,” Garth moaned as Sherlock’s body surrounded him.

Sherlock began to rut his hips experimentally but he stopped almost immediately to take deep breaths. It was agonizing, he thought he was being ripped to shreds but he knew he had to carry on endlessly. His body began once again to bounce up and down on Garth’s erection in a steady motion. He continued with lackluster little wiggles and gyrations of his hips, using the springs of the mattress as leverage and remaining seated for the most part atop Garth’s thighs, his dick pressed deep into Sherlock’s ass.

“Fuck, faster baby!” Garth panted at him snatching his hips and forcing Sherlock up higher on his dick before pushing the wiggling man back down. Sherlock shook his head no.

“I can’t” he whimpered as Garth tried to make him bounce with some form of energy.

“Come on, kitten. Make it worth the pain” Garth sounded like asking kindly but Sherlock knew it was in fact an order.

He calmed himself down and placed his hands on either side of Garth’s head as he lifted his hips up high and slammed them back down quickly, causing the older man to groan relentlessly in satisfaction. Garth’s eyes stayed constantly open, taking in the remarkable sight above him. Sherlock Holmes; losing control, coming undone, riding him wildly. It was what he’d always wanted, what he’d always craved and now he could finally had it.

Eventually, Sherlock to his utter horror and displeasure began to feel something from it. Sparks of pleasure sent him breathless, they forced him to try harder, to cling on to the feeling tightly. Sherlock leaned back and rested his hands behind him on Garth’s legs. The new position meant that Garth’s cock was hitting his prostate every time and sending him wild. His throbbing erection bounced in front of him as he pumped his arse on Garth’s cock desperately now for his own release. He gasped loudly as he felt his orgasm build up.

“Touch yourself” Garth begged.

Sherlock obeyed. He started tugging on his cock in rapid motions as he bounced up and down. He hated himself for doing this, for feeling pleasure from this torture. He soon realized that no matter how hard he was, he wouldn’t be able to come and he felt terrified. Garth would be mad with him. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip while he left his mind free. The muscular man underneath him transformed into a completely different man. The dark blonde hair turned into sandy hair and the angry eyes turned into kind blue ones. _JOHN!_

The orgasm was intense. It was better than any high he’d ever experienced. His cum splayed over Garth’s chest, some even ending up near his mouth. Even after he began getting extremely sensitive, he kept moving on Garth’s cock, dying to bring him to release, all the while imagining John was the one who was having sex with him. And when he did, Garth let out a blaring moan as he thrust his hips up to meet Sherlock’s. Sherlock could feel Garth’s cum fill up his arse to the brink. He could still feel Garth pulsing inside of him as his climax came to an end.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Garth breathed heavily as he pulled Sherlock down to lay on top of him. Sherlock didn’t want to move, he wanted to have John inside him forever; he couldn’t bear the thought of being empty again. That was until he remembered that wasn’t John but Garth. He pulled himself out of Garth and laid next to him.

“So, now I can go and see John? And you won’t get mad or try to monitor me” he asked.

“Hm” Garth hummed. He would have gotten mad had he not been so dazed from the intent orgasm.

As they both laid there, Sherlock imagined once again John. When he closed his eyes, he could see John’s smile and his beautiful eyes. He wondered what it would be like to have John caress him, kiss him, tell him that he loves him. What it would feel like to have John inside of him, making him come from pleasure and love. But that would never happen. But he would still see John tomorrow. They would go for a walk, maybe they’d even go to the Yard and work on that case. They’d be together again and that’s all that mattered to him. Tears once again began to dampen Sherlock’s face and for the first time in a long, long time, he let himself smile as he dreamt of a world where he and John were together in every sense of the word. Because in Sherlock’s opinion, they were meant to be. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay next update will be on Monday. The next chapter will contain an angry Mycroft kidnapping John to get details on Garth's appearance to make sure it's him and there'll be some very interesting reactions! (thank you TG for the idea). We'll also finally see John meeting Sherlock!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not posting yesterday like I promised but I've been having laptop issues and I don't know when the next update will be. I'll try to update as soon as possible, I promise. So in this chapter Mycroft didn't kidnap John because the chapter's already too long so I'll do that in the next one! But we have John meeting Sherlock and there's some Johnlock which I enjoyed writing!

John was practically vibrating. He was going to see Sherlock. After all this time being apart, he was going to see him again. To say John was happy was an understatement. Once John had received Sherlock’s text that said that they could meet today, he wanted to start jumping around and dance like a bloody five year old who was promised a big ice cream. And quite honestly, that’s pretty much how he felt. He felt like he was going to see his significant other, like he was going to find again his other half and together they’d be perfect again. Perfect and… well together. That was the most important part. Together.

That’s of course until he remembers Mr. Perfect. That’s how John called him in his mind, because in all honesty, that guy had looked perfect. Bloody long limbs, just like Sherlock’s, only a bit tanner, dark blonde hair that screamed “bad boy” all the way from the corner contrary to his own sandy more tamed hair. All he could think of last night were those damn hands through wild black curls and he had to stop himself from growling aloud. Was he gonna be there too? Would Sherlock be waiting for John in their flat with this man by his side? As his what… new partner? God, John was praying with everything in him that that wasn’t the case. He didn’t think he would be able to handle a situation where he would see Sherlock after a very long time only to witness him being with someone else. In front of John of all people! John, who loved Sherlock more than a man should be able to love anyone! He would have gone to Sherlock two days ago, surprised the hell out of him and then he would have confessed his love and then, according to Molly, Sherlock would have fallen in his arms and it would have been bloody perfection. But instead, he went to a flat full of love-making sounds that were coming from Sherlock and another man! And it had killed John, the thought that had he not been a blind coward, he would be the one to make Sherlock make all these delicious noises.

He sighted in exasperation. He didn’t know how he should feel. He was over the moon for seeing the mad detective again, but what if Sherlock wasn’t alone? What if he didn’t want to spend time with John anymore? What if he didn’t need John anymore? Had he actually found a replacement? Was that man accompanying Sherlock to crime scenes, complimenting him, like John used to? And then what? Did they go back to the flat and had a round of victory sex? The mere idea was making John nauseous, afraid to vomit all over the new carpet in his living room. No, no, that wasn’t really his living room, it never was. It was Mary’s, no matter how awful that sounded. John had never felt this place like home anyway. Baker Street was where his heart and soul was and so Baker Street was and would always be his home. Or so he thought. Before another man went and took that from him along with the love of his life.

John wants to scream, he wants to scream for the world to hear that this is unfair, that this shouldn’t be happening, but he knows he can’t. Because then, the world will turn around and ask him what had he done for it? And then he would be forced to admit that he had gotten. He had ignored the way his heart pumped for the detective and he had made him his best man, involuntarily killing them both on that day. And then the world of course would tell him that this is what he deserved and that he couldn’t demand from Sherlock to wait for him forever. And again, he would be forced to accept that this was the truth and he would have to remain silent. Just like it had happened in his dreams.

“I’m going out” he screamed at his wife as he put his coat on.

“Our where?” came the reply quickly.

“Baker Street. I’m gonna see Sherlock. Don’t wait up” he said and went to leave but froze when he saw his wife sitting with her arms crossed on her chest eyeing him angrily. He gave her a curious look.

“Well it would have been nice to let me know a bit earlier now, wouldn’t it? I could have just rested instead of making that bloody risotto I know you like so much” she said still angrily.

John winced. Sherlock used to love risotto. He would always sit next to John, refusing to eat a full mean when he was on a case but would still steal a few bites out of John’s plate. He knew it and would always make sure to put an extra portion for both of them. Did Mr. Perfect cook for Sherlock? Did he cook as good as John? The doctor shook his head. It didn’t do him any good to have these thoughts.

“Yeah well, I must’ve forgotten” he mentally cursed himself when he saw Mary getting angrier. “I’m sorry, I really thought I had told you”.

“Well you didn’t. The least you can do is stay here and have dinner with me and then go and see Sherlock, I’m sure he’s not gonna go anywhere”. John gave her a look.

“It’s Sherlock” his explanation didn’t do Mary any good.

“John” she warned. “You never eat with me anymore. What’s going on?” she demanded to know.

“Nothing” John said sadly. Because she was right. She had been perfect with John, incredibly understanding and she didn’t deserve this treatment. But John couldn’t help himself. He was ashamed but there was no denying that he would choose Sherlock over Mary any day.

“You’re not gonna stay, are you?” Mary asked. She seemed sad and it actually pained John to know that he was the reason for this woman’s unhappiness. She was his wife after all; it was his job, his responsibility to keep her happy. And no matter being in love with Sherlock, he still loved her as a woman. He loved her more than any other woman he’d ever met, that would never change.

“I’m sorry. I promise tomorrow we’ll have lunch together. I’ll come back from the clinic earlier” he said and grabbed his keys.

These last days he was taking extra shifts at the clinic to avoid Mary at home. It wasn’t easy to lie to the woman he was working with so he had to actually work more. That way he would stay away from home. He couldn’t stand to be near good, kind Mary who would silently plead him for any physical contact but he just couldn’t give it to her. Every time he would try to touch her, her blonde hair would turn to black curls, her beautiful skin would turn to ivory and her soft eyes would transform to sharp silver-blue that took his breath away.

“When are you gonna be back?” she asked tentatively.

“Not sure” he replied and made his way to the door. “Don’t wait up” he said and left.

Once he got out of the house, he spotted a taxi only about a mile away. He raised his hand and yelled. He took off and directed towards the cab. As soon as he arrived, he yelled the address at the cabby and sat in the back seats. He waited patiently all the while thinking what he would do if Sherlock wasn’t in fact alone but with this bloke. Would he manage to keep his calm? Possibly shake hands with him, introduce himself as Sherlock’s ex flat mate and… friend? No, that was far too painful for him to say in front of Mr. Perfect. God, he already hated this man and his abs. He didn’t need to know him further, just the thought that every night he laid his hands on what John craved the most, was enough to make him loath the other.

First of all he had to find out whether this was a serious relationship or not. Because if it was, then John would immediately back off. He might love Sherlock more than anything, but he would never be selfish enough to make them break up if they truly loved each other. If they were happy, then the doctor would just stand back and watch them being happy together just like Sherlock had watched him in his wedding day. But if this wasn’t anything serious and Sherlock was just passing his time, then John would make sure to show him what John hadn’t seen alone. Or if Molly had been right, maybe that was his way of getting over John? Could that be the case? Was Sherlock trying to forget him with this guy?

“Oi, mate, I’ve got work to do” the cabbie said suddenly shaking John out of his thoughts. Apparently they had reached Baker Street.

John thanked him and paid him rather quickly and got out of the car very quickly. He was very eager to see Sherlock that once he was standing outside of the familiar building, he forgot all about Mr. Perfect. He stood there frozen, his heart beating fast. He had so many memories from there. He and Sherlock solving cases together. He and Sherlock having lunch together, well John having lunch all the while trying to shove some food inside the madman’s mouth. He wished he could turn back the time. He would do so many things differently.

Suddenly the door opened and John’s breath caught in his throat. For a second he thought that it might be Mr. Perfect and he was ready to throw a tantrum about how he hated him, how he hated the fact that he got to touch Sherlock and be around him, how he should move away quietly because John would probably murder him in his sleep. But all these ideas left his mind once he saw Mrs. Hudson stepping outside the flat with a suitcase in her hand and a coat over her shoulders. John calmed once he saw the man but then his eyes widened realizing how long he had to see the woman in front of him.

“Mrs. Hudson” he greeted her.

“John!” the woman was instantly on him hugging the life out of him.

John couldn’t help himself and laughed as he hugged her back. The feeling was so nice, so familiar, like he was finally back at home. He realized there were a few tears in his eyes.

“Hello Mrs. Hudson” he said quietly.

“Oh, John, look at you” she said sadly and John frowned.

“What’s the matter?” he asked nervously.

“You look like a mess. Certainly not how a newly married man would look like right after his honeymoon. I heard you came back earlier” she explained.

“I’m fine” he assured her and smiled. Unfortunately he was never the best liar and could never fool Mrs. Hudson. Her face looked sad again.

“Just one phone call, John! Just one phone call would have done. It would have saved us a lot of trouble to know that your mind was still here. We wouldn’t have to…” she stopped abruptly and swallowed.

“Wouldn’t have to what?” John asked.

“It’s really not my place to say” she replied even sadder. “He probably wants to tell you himself” she said and nodded to the building. _Sherlock_ …

“Sherlock? What’s he gonna tell me?”

“After all we went through… Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after... after... the wedding. But… well I suppose everyone moves on eventually. Some stories don’t have a happy ending it seems”.

John was really perplexed now. Was that supposed to be a warning? Some sort of preparation for John? Did that mean that Sherlock had moved on and he didn’t want to see him again? Maybe he just wanted to cut him out of his life again and Mrs. Hudson was trying to warn him? As he kept thinking, he got paler and Mrs. Hudson tightened her grip on John’s arm with a knowing look and sighed.

“I’m so sorry, dear” she whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” John said whispering as well. Mrs. Hudson just shook her head.

“I’m going to my sister for the weekend. You go up there and have a nice chat. Take all the time you want, dear. Just… go easy on him, yes?”

Before John could ask her what on earth she meant by that, she had turned her back and was now walking toward a cab that was waiting for her. John watched her as she got into the car and took off until the cab disappeared from his sight. He then proceeded to walk in front of the door once again finding himself wondering whether he should ring the bell or just open with his own keys. Sherlock hadn’t asked him to return the keys and considering that the young man would most likely be lying on the couch, John knew there was no way he would get up to open the door. So he made up his mind and taking a deep breath, he placed the key in the keyhole and pushed the door open.

The moment his foot hit the floor inside the flat, he was immediately overcome with memories in this place. He and Sherlock laughing incredibly hard on their first case together was the first one that came to his mind. He felt his lips slowly curving into a small smile and he forced his feet to start moving towards the stairs. He took one step at a time relishing the feeling, taking in the scent of the building not knowing when it will be the next time he’s gonna have the chance to do so. He stood right outside Sherlock’s… no, their flat’s door. Should he knock or just enter?

He quickly took the decision that looked right to him and didn’t knock. He just swung the door open, eyes falling immediately on Sherlock. Sherlock was indeed sitting on his couch, wearing nothing but his blue dressing gown. The detective immediately turned his head and his eyes fell on the doctor. John looked tense, eyes tired and swollen (hadn’t been sleeping well), clothes the same ones he’d worn the day before (not keeping up on laundry), but he was smiling broadly at Sherlock and his blue eyes were twinkling as they were met by clever blue ones.

Sherlock rose from the couch and stood in front of John, their eyes never leaving each other, as they took in each other’s appearances. The detective hadn’t seen John for days and now they both stood there, grinning at each other like complete fools. But none of them looked eager to move and break the moment. They were finally alone, just the two of them at Baker Street and it felt so damn right to both of them that it was impossible for both men to believe that they had spend any time far from the other.

“Hello, Sherlock” John called softly, blue eyes brightening.

“John…” Sherlock licked his lips and averted his eyes from the John, breaking the spell that had been casted between them.

“How are you?” and then more quietly “How’s Mary?” John flinched at the question.

No, he wasn’t gonna do that. He hadn’t seen Sherlock for days, weeks even and now that they were finally together again, he wasn’t going to have this conversation that if anything, added even more distance between them. He wouldn’t talk about Mary, or his honeymoon or about anything that didn’t have to do with Sherlock and John. Just the two of them. And apparently Mr. Perfect since they had to put him in the conversation, well John had to, for his own sanity. He was dying to know but for now, other things mattered more.

His eyes clouded a bit. Sherlock didn’t look fine at all. If anything, he looked worse than he ever was. He was even thinner. He’d somehow managed to lose more weight. Weight he couldn’t afford to lose and he somehow looked even paler. John didn’t think that was even possible but apparently it was. It was obviously from the malnutrition and the lack of sleep since the man didn’t look ill. He was strong, his muscles clenching under the dressing gown but still… standing here in front of John with only a thin piece of cloth covering his body, he looked more fragile than John remembered.

“Tea, John?” he asked, his smile had long disappeared.

“Tea, yes of course” he was shocked to say the least. Sherlock never made tea for anyone but he supposed after not having seen each other for such a long time, these typical things were a necessity.

Sherlock nodded and strode into the kitchen and began filling the kettle. He couldn’t help but notice how tight John’s jeans were or how they pulled taut across his groin where there was a rather large bulge. He had to swallow and lick his lips again. Now that Garth had reminded him of the pleasures of flesh, he couldn’t help but longing John to pleasure him that way. He couldn’t stop himself from craving John’s hands on him, to touch him, to heal him, to make him feel again. He shook his head. John was a married man now, as straight as an arrow. If Sherlock ever had a chance, he had lost it a long time ago. He slammed the kettle down on the cooktop rather harder than he meant to, and John jumped and looked at him, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Sorry, it slipped out of my hand” Sherlock mumbled and when John grinned, he felt himself blushing.

“So…” John said as he sat down in his chair and accepter the tea. He watched Sherlock carefully sitting to his own chair across from him.

“How was the honeymoon?” Sherlock interrupted him again.

“Fine” John spat but then regretted it. “Actually not so fine” he hurried to add. He decided to be brave “I… I meant it when I said I’ve missed you. In that text”.

Sherlock felt himself panicking remembering that night. The night that Garth had come to him and had potentially ruined his life for a second time. He felt tears coming to his eyes and he mentally shook himself. He couldn’t afford a mental break down, not in front of John. Not now that they finally had the chance to talk.

“Yeah, I know. My battery died you know and I didn’t notice until next morning. I… I’ve missed you too” he dared, biting his lower lip nervously.

John’s breath caught in his throat. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, his heart started beating so hard that John was afraid it might jump right out of his chest. He felt week on his kneed and he thanked whatever deity he could remember that he was sitting for he would have surely collapsed had he been standing.

“Have you lost weight?” he asked a bit concerned. “You look thinner.” Sherlock shifted in his seat.

“I’m fine” he said and avoided John’s gaze. “Just a bit tired” he turned his eyes to John’s form now. “You look tired too” he pointed out.

John wanted to laugh at the irony. Both men slowly dying without each other and yet they made themselves enduring this torture both believing it was the best for the other if they just stayed away. It was a real tragedy.

“I am” he admitted. Sherlock didn’t answer.

They both stayed there just watching one another contently. John let his eyes linger on Sherlock’s face. His cheekbones looked more prominent than ever, his eyes always that mesmerizing color, now looked clouded, and dark circles were apparent underneath them.

“So… how’s Mary?” Sherlock asked again. John felt really angry now. Didn’t Sherlock realize what he was doing to him?

“Wow. Really? That’s what you’re going to ask me right now? That’s how you chose to break the ice? I don’t want to talk about Mary. I want to talk about ME and YOU. What is happening with US, Sherlock?” John’s hand was shaking, jaw grinding tightly. Maybe he was being very straightforward. But he didn’t care. He was going to short things out today. Sherlock knew he was seconds from exploding, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss him until he stopped being angry, wrap his arms around him, and beg him to come home, come home to me, John. But wait, had John said US? Did that mean what Sherlock thought it meant or was he just deluding himself? Was he that desperate that he was imagining things? Probably.

“U…. uhm… us?” he stuttered. John’s face suddenly became red and all the confidence he’d been building up left him all at once. He became unsure again and he looked into Sherlock’s eyes trying to figure out if he had done something wrong and if he could still fix it. What he saw though was not disgust or anger. He rather saw confusion, surprise, disbelief, fear even… and was that hope? Could it be hope? He took a deep breath collecting himself and his courage.

“Yes. Us” he repeated.

Sherlock was thrilled. But then he suddenly remembered Garth. What if he came around? He’d promised he wouldn’t but Sherlock knew better than to trust the man. He wouldn’t so as he said just because he had promised Sherlock. Especially now that he was dying to meet John. Sherlock knew very well that his reassurances that John wasn’t gay and he was married didn’t work on Garth as he must have seen through his lies right onto Sherlock’s feelings. But Sherlock wouldn’t give him a reason to go after John. He would never do that no matter how much his heart was begging him to shut up and let John speak.

“John, really. I don’t think this is the right time to talk about this. We’ll make a date to discuss this, I promise. But right now…”

Sherlock hated saying these things to John, making the distance between them even worse, but he couldn’t imagine John and Garth meeting. He had to get John out of there before it was too late. John stared at him, mouth agape not believing what the man in front of him had just said. Suddenly he felt great anger inside of him. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. This was definitely not right. He had prepared himself mentally and now this wanker was going to sit there and listen to him because if John had a chance, if what he had detected in Sherlock’s eyes was hope and was overcome by fear, he would make sure not to make the same mistake twice. He would grab this opportunity and never let it go.

“No. Goddammit, Sherlock. I’ve had enough. We are discussing this now. Right bloody now. What have I done? What’s my fault this time?” He threw his cup, which he’d been holding in his hand, onto the table, hard. But his hand was shaking so badly that the cup didn’t balance on the table’s surface and landed on the floor crashing. John ignored it and got up. Sherlock’s heart broke just like the cup had and he tried to soften his tone not wanting John to believe that Sherlock didn’t want this. Them. He was desperate to keep John face but he didn’t think he would be able to survive it if John actually meant what he thought he did and Sherlock kicked him out. He would never forgive himself if he lost that opportunity. But of course he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to John.

“John” he whispered brokenly. “I…”

“No. don’t you dare. Let me finish. Now, I’ll do the talking and you, Sherlock Holmes” he pointed a finger at him, “you, are going to listen”. Sherlock took a deep breath, his eyes darting all over the room, especially at the door before they finally landed on John’s determined ones. He fell quiet and tried to look as pathetic as possible so that John would listen to him. But the doctor was having none of that. He was using his Captain Watson’s voice and he was giving orders and he wouldn’t afford being disobeyed. So Sherlock listened.

“Sherlock look, this is hard for me. I’m not really good at these things. So please understand that what I’m about to tell you I’ve been wanting to tell you for a lot of time but I didn’t have the balls to. But now I’m here and I really want to… tell you and let you know… uhm” he was faltering.

Sherlock felt as he couldn’t breathe. What was happening now? Was John going to make a confession? No, John didn’t want him, John wasn’t gay. Sherlock felt his heart beating faster as he tried to consolidate this new data with all that he previously knew about John. But it looked like this was going to be a confession. And if it really was a confession, what was Sherlock going to do? He knew what he wanted to do but what about Garth? As long as Garth was here, Sherlock couldn’t fall in John’s arms, he still belonged to Garth. No, Sherlock would always belong to John, body and mind, heart and soul. But Garth was the one who owed his body now.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John sounded really concerned as the detective had turned even paler. He looked like a ghost.

“Yes, of course, I’m fine” his voice trembled. “I just need to… excuse me for a second” Sherlock got up and walked to the kitchen. He needed to put some distance between them right now. His knees trembled and he was grateful he didn’t trip.

Could John really be attracted to him? Could he ever have something with him? Could they be together? _Impossible_ , he thought. _Stupid, hopeless_ … Sherlock suddenly felt like he was suffocating. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for support. He had to think, he couldn’t allow himself to feel this hope only to have it ripped from him. He would not be able to survive it! He would die!

He had to think. This was something he wanted more than anything. Could it really be that simple? Could he just ask help from Mycroft, let him have Garth disappear and then be with John for happily ever after? But what if John didn’t really want him? What if Mycroft didn’t believe him? In the past, he had initiated a lot of encounters with Garth and now maybe Mycroft would just believe that he was an addict again, a whore. What if he just damped Sherlock alone and told John about his past? Then John would hate him and he couldn’t let that happen. Then, he heard John’s steps approaching. He came up to Sherlock, stood behind him. Sherlock did not move, just kept facing the kitchen counter, desperately trying to collect himself enough to be able to turn around to face John.

“Sherlock, what’s the matter?” John spoke softly.

He got even closer, Sherlock could feel the scent of him. He could smell his aftershave and he felt himself getting lost in the man who was standing now behind him. John had closed the gap between them so that his chest was pressing against Sherlock’s back and he reluctantly reached out his arms on either side of Sherlock. He placed his dry, warm hands on Sherlock’s lower arms and held them still. His touch was gentler than Sherlock had ever felt. It was warm and welcomed unlike Garth’s. Sherlock could feel John’s body heat radiating into his own body, through the fabric of his shirt, on his back, on his arms. He felt John’s heartbeat. He wondered if he was going to faint, then remembered people rarely fainted from panic.

“Sherlock” John whispered again and Sherlock felt his body trembling. As he could feel his shoulders dropping, feel himself moving away from the edge of panic, he was able to notice that John’s respiratory rate had increased. John’s touch calmed him and he felt like he was able to breathe again. He was feeling safe enveloped in John’s arms. The first time he felt safe in a very long time and he relished the feeling. Sherlock remained motionless.

“J-Jo-John” the detective chocked.

“Sherlock” John breathed his name again like it was a prayer. He moved his hands, let them glide down Sherlock’s shirted arms until they were resting on top of Sherlock’s tight fists, still gripping the counter. John worked his hands under Sherlock’s, coaxed open his tight grip on the granite. He moved his hands back on top of Sherlock’s, pushed his fingers through his, intertwining them, holding his hands against the cold surface. He leaned forward, pressed more of his body against Sherlock’s.

“John, I…” Sherlock tried to swallow but it was impossible. He felt detached from reality, as if this was just a dream. As if it wasn’t really happening. It was one of Sherlock’s biggest fantasies. He and John together… like they were now pressed to each other. He didn’t want this moment to end. Ever.

“Don’t push me away, Sherlock. Let this happen. Please, just let this happen” John’s breath was now on Sherlock’s neck. “Let me fix things between us. I’ll take care of everything”. When Sherlock spoke, his voice sounded raspy, like he had just woken up.

“I don’t understand” he whispered pressing himself slightly back to John.

John immediately released his hands from his grip, and instead drove them to Sherlock’s shoulders where he grabbed hem firmly. In a gentle but determined move, he turned Sherlock around in his arms, all the while keeping him close never breaking their body contact. Sherlock gathered courage to briefly meet his eyes. All he could see was warm, light, shining. John’s eyes were dark with focus. John let his left hand travel from Sherlock’s shoulder, until it was resting on his collarbone. He moved the other to cup Sherlock’s jaw, fingers reaching behind his ear. His hands felt warm and steady. He spoke in a husky, low voice.

”Then let me explain myself.” With his right hand, he tilted Sherlock’s head slightly down.

Sherlock could see him wetting his lips with a quick dart of his tongue. John reached up and let his lips, ever so softly, touch Sherlock’s lower lip in a featherlight kiss. He didn’t press hard allowing Sherlock to pull back if he felt uncomfortable. The detective’s body was still completely frozen, but his mind was racing to the extent that he briefly wondered if this was what it would feel like to go insane. He tried to form a coherent train of thought, but all he got was fragmentized. It was warm, and light, and it was shining and sparkling, and it was John, and his lips were pressing against Sherlock’s again, a little bit harder this time. It took a couple of seconds before Sherlock realized that the doctor was placing a light kiss on Sherlock’s upper lip, and then gently pulling on Sherlock’s lower lip, sucking it in, then releasing.

All Sherlock could really think was if this was really happening or if he had actually fallen and hit his head somewhere. If he was in a come, he prayed that he would remain dead to the world for the rest of his life. If this was a dream, he prayed that he would never wake up again. Sherlock found himself leaning into the kiss, couldn’t help but return it. How could he not, after waiting and hoping and dreaming about it for so long. It was the best feeling he’d ever felt and a soft moan escaped Sherlock’s mouth, unwillingly, he felt embarrassed about this loss of control, but then John immediately responded by emitting a throaty grunt and pulling Sherlock even closer.

“God, Sherlock” John didn’t want to let go. He wanted to hold onto the man in front of him forever. This was what felt right. He used his right hand to pull Sherlock tighter and let his left one travel through the detective’s curls, marveling at how soft they were. Since John had broken the kiss, he started to place wet kisses down to Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock let his head fall back a bit, exposing more of his skin and John dove hungrily to the creamy flesh that was exposed.

“John” Sherlock whimpered.

“Sherlock, you’re beautiful, you’re amazing” he held Sherlock tighter. “You’re everything… my everything.” Sherlock mentally cursed himself for believing for just a moment that he might be able to live without John Watson.

John was now using his body weight to press Sherlock back against the counter, and he was starting to rock into Sherlock, in a slow but urgent pace. Sherlock quickly caught on, moving his hips in rhythm with John’s. He was barely aware of his dressing gown being pulled off. John’s hands were now on his chest and Sherlock couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even talk. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, turned him away from the counter. Still furiously kissing and stroking him, John started to walk Sherlock backwards out of the kitchen and onto Sherlock’s bedroom.

 _He’s very strong_ , Sherlock thought, and then, _What is happening_?

”I need to take this somewhere else,” he mumbled to Sherlock’s neck, as he kept coaxing and pushing him.

“John” with a heavy heart, Sherlock pushed John back and stared into his blue eyes. “There’s something you need to know” he had to tell him. As if on cue then, there was a loud noise from the door and then there were steps on the living room.

“Sherlock, sorry, I forgot my phone here…” And there was Garth, silhouetted in the doorway, all narrow waist, broad shoulders, brown skin glowing against a white shirt with the cuffs rolled up and dark blue jeans. He sputtered to a stop, looking from John to Sherlock, to John’s hands on Sherlock’s half naked form and immediately he gave Sherlock a knowing look that was murderous.

“Who the fuck are you?” John leveled a finger at him, biting off the end of each word before suddenly remembering a few nights ago. Here was Mr. Perfect standing right in front of him.

“John” Sherlock chocked who hadn’t missed Garth’s angry pose. He was dead.

“It’s alright Sherlock” Garth smiled – he actually smiled! But it was a mean smile full of hatred. He then turned to John. “I think it’s time for you to leave” he said unbelievably calm.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one who needs to leave. This is between me and Sherlock.” John whipped his head round to look at Garth, eyes burning with anger and equal hatred.

“John, stop it” Sherlock grabbed his arm desperately. He needed John to understand, to be safe. “John, you must leave” he was breaking his own heart. The last thing he wanted was this, this fracture between them. It just seemed inevitable now. John’s mouth fell open, turning slowly to look at Sherlock. His blue eyes were bright with tears, but his voice was steady but pleading.

“I don’t understand” he said now.

“I promise I’ll explain. But not now. Please leave now” he whispered praying that Garth didn’t hear him. Their eyes locked. John’s were searching, begging Sherlock to help him understand, and angry still, and there was an incongruous happiness there, too, just from seeing Sherlock again, having him feet away from him, even if John mostly wanted to knock him flat at the moment. Sherlock’s eyes were soft and sad, and John fought an urge to take his face in his hands, stroke his hair. Even when he was furious with him, John couldn’t help wanting to comfort Sherlock, protect him. Even if it was from himself. But John was having none of it.

“Fuck, YES, NOW, Sherlock. Goddammit! I am so sick of this shit.” The spell of their locked eyes broken, John was immediately furious again. Garth cleared his throat. ”Who ARE you?” John barked. He wanted some answers and if Sherlock wouldn’t give them to him, then he would take them from Mr. Perfect.

Garth looked at Sherlock, and he nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Sherlock and I are seeing each other, John. That’s why I’m here.” Garth said it as calmly and carefully as he could, not even moving a muscle but Sherlock knew the storm would come later. John’s nostrils flared, and he bit down on his lip, whirling to look at Sherlock.

“Yeah? You’re SEEING someone? For real? So what, don’t you think that you should have told me that before… before…?” The look in John’s eyes. It was pain. Heartache. Sherlock found himself momentarily speechless.

“John, I…” there were no words to say what he wanted. What he felt. But before he could gather his thoughts, John was striding towards the door without so much as looking at Sherlock's direction.

The detective didn’t make a move towards him. He wanted to go after him more than everything but he didn’t dare in front of Garth. He silently looked at him and swallowed. The look Garth gave him was more than murderous. He was going to die, that was sure.

“Well Sherlock, I'm disappointed apparently you have proven me that I can’t trust you” he said and pointed at Sherlock’s form.

The detective closed his eyes and waited for Garth’s anger to burst. Garth’s hand came quickly around his neck and immediately started tightening. Sherlock was caught off guard, chocked and fought. He tried to push Garth away but to no avail. Tonight he had come very close to happiness and he had lost it. He had lost John, probably forever. Now he would never be with him because John knew and he probably hated him. Sherlock hated himself too. So he stopped fighting Garth and he just let him punish him until he felt himself stop breathing and everything went black. He then stopped thinking about John and stopped feeling the pain as he sank into nothingness…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some of the Johnlock parts, I've borrowed ideas from the amazing fanfic "In Clear View" so I must give credit. Sorry for not asking for permission! As always, I love comments and more than anything, I love you all! Ignore silly mistakes


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter's a bit short and crappy but I had to write it as it's important for the continuation to the story. Like I promised, here we have Mycroft kidnapping John and Marry has a HUGE surprise for us (that's not her part in this story though, no. Her real part is much more shocking!!!) I know the updates aren't really frequent but I'm having problems with my laptop, please be patient with me. As usual, ignore the mistakes

 

Once John was out of the building, he felt hot tears gathering to his eyes and he brought his hands to wipe them. But he didn’t have the right to be mad at Sherlock. They weren’t in a relationship, they weren’t together. He owned him no explanation. So why did it hurt John so much, it was nothing new. John knew that Sherlock was seeing someone, he had seen them together having sex, for the love of God. So he should have expected it. But when he was back at the flat with Sherlock’s in his arms, he had felt at ease, he was completely in piece. He hadn’t felt this right in a very long time, it was like everything was complete again.

For the first time ever since he could remember, John hadn’t thought about Mary, hadn’t thought about what people might say, hadn’t thought about anything really. The only thing on his mind was Sherlock and the feeling of his hot body pressed close to his own and it was something he had never felt. He felt like he belonged there in Baker Street with Sherlock in his arms and not to give a toss about the rest of the world. That somehow felt right. He was meant to be at Baker Street with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, he could already picture their life and their future together and it was a very nice image.

And then the perfect moment was ruined when Mr. Perfect had walked in and interrupted them. And only that, he also had the nerve to fucking smile at John and explained that he and Sherlock were dating all the while staying impossibly calm. As if John didn’t want to lunge at him and tear him into pieces for ever daring to touch this beautiful man who could only ever belong to John. It didn’t feel right to know that someone else got to touch his detective in more intimate was that John had ever dared to imagine. And only a few moments ago, he was the one caressing and kissing Sherlock and they had both enjoyed it. He couldn’t have misread the signs, Sherlock must have liked it too. Maybe he should just give the man some time to sort things out with Mr. Perfect. Maybe now Sherlock was breaking up with him. He hadn’t looked like he was going to break things up thought… he had looked surprised and… maybe even scared? Why would he be scared? Could he be scared that Mr. Perfect might leave him? Could he love him that much that? And if he did, then what on earth was he doing with John? Was it all just a game? Some kind of experiment?

The army doctor sighed and took a deep breath trying to compose himself. He knew that if he let that inner monster get the better of him, he’d let out his jealousy and that was never a good thing. John Watson was never a possessive man, he was never jealous with his girlfriends and he had never problems with them. And yet it seemed that with Sherlock, he became a whole different person. He often felt extremely possessive over the detective. He felt like he owned him and for that he hated himself. Sherlock could not be owned, he was a free, wild man and that’s what made him so beautiful. And yet, the good doctor wanted to scare off at every man or woman who looked at Sherlock with interest and scream to the world that this detective was his. He had caught himself wishing many times he could mark that sinful neck of his friends to show to everyone that this man was his and it became painfully apparent that when it came to Sherlock, the soldier was indeed very much the jealous type.

Molly had told him that Sherlock loved him back, hadn’t she? She had guaranteed that the detective returned his feelings and Sherlock had indeed kissed him back. He had returned the kiss, John was certain about that. And just before they had broken apart, John had started moving them both towards the detective’s bedroom and the younger man hadn’t complained. Now that he thought about it, Sherlock had probably looked scared when Garth had interrupted them. But not scared in the way a lover would be not to lose their partner. Scared in a way that a man was afraid of his physical integrity.

He was too wrapped up to his own thoughts that he never noticed the big black car with the tinted windows approaching him, until it stopped right next to him. The driver had to hit the corn for John to finally spin around scared. He took a look and got tensed. He then saw the window pulling down to present the Not-Anthea smiling at him. John immediately relaxed and sighted deeply.

“Mycroft?” was all he said.

Anthea smiled and nodded. John knew very well that he didn’t really have a choice, but this time he actually wondered what could Mycroft possibly want him and so he obediently climbed on the car. Anthea had already gone back texting furiously on her mobile and was completely ignoring the doctor. John was fine with it, as long as they made it quick. He had to go back to Mary soon. He might have told her not to wait up but he was sure that she would be waiting for him like any good wife would. And the thought that he was the one who kept leaving him and yet she never seemed to complain, made him feel incredibly guilty. And the worse thing was that if Sherlock actually asked him to go back to Baker Street, right after he was done with Mycroft, he would go without a second thought, completely neglecting Mary’s needs. And that was something that would make him feel guilty forever.

“What does he want this time?” John attempted to ask the woman who was sitting next to him, her eyes not leaving her phone’s screen for one second.

“You’ll see” she replied shortly.

John took a deep breath and tried to compose himself and not let the angry face show itself to the woman in front of him. She was just following orders, it wasn’t her fault Mycroft was being a prat and was once again getting on John’s nerves. But then again he was certain the feelings were mutual.

“Is it about Sherlock?” he wanted to know. Anthea turned and looked at him for the first time today with a sad smile on her face.

“Isn’t it always about him?” she said simply.

“Yeah… I suppose it is” John looked outside of the window.

A text alert let him know that his wife was probably looking for him. He searched for his mobile and quickly looked at the screen. It was indeed Mary. He felt bad about her. She must have been waiting for him.

_We need to talk._

That’s all it said. What now? Had she figured out about his feelings for Sherlock? She must’ve, she wasn’t an idiot. The entire world probably had figured it out while John was still in denial. Now what did she want? Could it be that she was mad with the whole thing and wanted to break up with John? And then another thought passed John’s mind. Would he even mind? Would he try to change her mind? Probably not. If anything, he had to admit that he felt a bit relieved no matter how horrible that made him feel. It was the truth, his marriage with Mary had possibly ended way before it started. The moment Sherlock had made his bloody speech and had more or less confessed to John that he loved him, the ex army doctor knew that his marriage was over. He knew that his heart would always belong to the mad detective no matter what. He had always known, but he had never dared to admit it to anyone, not even to himself.

Okay. I’ll be home as soon as possible.

He typed it quickly and sent it praying that no matter what happened, they would be okay. And by they, of course in John’s mind, he meant he and Sherlock. God, when had they even become one thing in his mind?

_I’ll be waiting…_

“Where are we going this time?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Some kind of a warehouse” she answered.

“A warehouse?” he couldn’t hide his surprise and Anthea chuckled.

“Don’t worry, John. He doesn’t plan on killing you. Not as far as I know” she added mischievously, obviously enjoying the other’s discomfort.

“Cheers” John said unenthusiastically.

“Besides, if he did that, Sherlock would never forgive him and you and I both know that he wouldn’t risk that, no matter what he says” she winked at him.

It should have been flirty and gorgeous. It wasn’t. It only reminded of John the first time he had met Sherlock at Bart’s with Mike Stamford. He had never thanked the man. He was the one who introduced him to Sherlock, so he practically owned everything to him. The words Sherlock had said to him that day still lingered in John’s mind.

_The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Bake Street. Afternoon._

He could still hear the words when he thought about that day. Everything went back to that fateful day. John could still remember that funny feeling he had like there were million butterflies flying around his stomach when he had first lied eyes on Sherlock. And he could still feel that bitterness he’d felt when Sherlock told him that he was married to his work. He hadn’t even realized he’d been hitting on the man, it came out naturally. How stupid he’d been. Both of them.

“We’re here” Anthea announced suddenly.      

John looked around the abandoned warehouse. It wasn’t a particularly one, certainly not like he’d imagined it, but then again when it came to the Holmes brothers, one could never be sure what to expect. They got out of the car and John followed Anthea inside the building. There was a large space, completely empty save for the few crates dropped in the back. It looked like those places in the movies where the bad guys would capture the good ones and then would set the whole place on fire. Completely remote as it was, none would ever find out his corpse if Mycroft had suddenly decided to kill him. And yet, John wasn’t afraid, he could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins and he was exciting.

There, in the middle of the warehouse stood Mycroft Holmes, in all his glory, dressed in a dark suit holding his usual umbrella in his hand. He was smiling but the doctor could easily see that the smile didn’t reach the man’s eyes. It was a fake smile, no doubt trying to make John feel comfortable and not scare him. John wanted to laugh. Didn’t Mycroft know already that John wasn’t intimidated by this kind of behavior? If anything, he was used to dramatics, living with Sherlock for two years. He lifted his chin and stood in front of the taller man.

“John” Mycroft greeted.

“Mycroft” John took a look around him again.

“I believe the more appropriate thing to say is how was the wedding. And how was the honeymoon, I suppose. But I think we’d both find that unnecessary.”

“I won’t pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I’m gonna ask you to make this quick, there’s somewhere I need to be” John spoke fast.

“Yes of course. A few days ago, you went to see my brother, to surprise him, if I’m correct. And instead you were the one being surprised” John clenched his fists and eyed Mycroft.

“Yes.”

“Can you describe me the man you saw?” Mycroft played a bit with his umbrella, a clear sign that he was uncomfortable.

John took a deep breath. He didn’t like where this was going. He was trying to forget that night. He didn’t want to remember the sight of Sherlock underneath someone else. He tried to forget the sight of another man touching Sherlock that way. He was desperate not to remember the little noises Sherlock made and the way he had looked. Flushed, panting with his white skin all soft and pliant at that man’s disposal to kiss and caress like John had been doing only a couple of minutes ago.

“Why?” he asked and looked at Mycroft. “Why do you want to know?”

Mycroft seemed to contemplate this. He stood there watching the doctor while the doctor watched him back, none of them speaking or moving. Finally the taller man sighed and closed his eyes as if he was in pain.

“I can’t say” he said quietly.

“Sorry?”

“It’s not my place to say, John” Mycroft said again.

“The hell is that supposed to mean? You practically kidnap me from the street, bring me here in the middle of nowhere, so I’m assuming it’s important and it’s to do with Sherlock. It’s okay for you to ask this kind of question but you can’t tell me why you need to know this. If it is just curiosity, go and ask your brother, it’s not my place to say either!” John was angry. He didn’t know why but he was. He was frustrated because he was forced to remember things he had tried so hard to forget.

“Trust me John, this is important otherwise you wouldn’t be here” Mycroft sighted sadly. “Unfortunately, I really can’t tell you why I require this information but I assure you this is not me prying into my little brother’s personal life. I’d like you to know what’s happening, but I’m not sure myself, which is why I need your help. Tell me John, how was this man, what did he look like? You’re not doing this for me, you’re probably saving Sherlock’s life right now so please remember.”

John eyed Mycroft fearfully. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was Sherlock in danger? Was this man dangerous? He hadn’t looked dangerous to John, but Mycroft looked genuinely worried and that wasn’t a sight many people got to see. But if Sherlock was indeed in any danger, John would be damn not to help anyway he could.

“I don’t know” he said finally. “He seems normal to me. He’s tall, a bit taller than Sherlock, more muscular. Older, I suppose, although he doesn’t look much older. Dark blonde hair, tanned skin, fucking Hollywood smile…” John posed realizing how jealous he must have been heard. He shook his head mentally cursing himself.

Mycroft didn’t speak. He just stood there completely still, barely breathing. John eyed him waiting for some reaction. Had he made himself that obvious and now Mycroft was mad at him? Had he realized what had John been doing with Sherlock back at Baker Street, well almost done? Would he now warn John to back off and leave his brother and new partner alone? John wanted to scream at the other man to move or scream at him. To do anything at all. But Mycroft just stayed there, in deep thought. He looked unsure of what to think, of what to do.

“Mycroft?” John was unsure if he was the reason for the other man’s uncertainty.  

John jumped slightly startled at Mycroft’s growl of apparent anger as the taller man threw the umbrella away and placed his head in his hands taking deep breaths trying to compose himself. John stood there, fairly surprised as he had never witnessed the other man losing his patience. Had he said something wrong? Then suddenly Mycroft lifted his chin and took a deep breath and a very feigned smile appeared on his face.  

“Thank you John. You’ve been quite useful” and with that he turned to leave.

“No, you’re bloody not leaving” John yelled. The other man posed.

“I’m sorry?” he remained with his back turned to John.

“You’re not gonna leave like that. You’re gonna tell me what this was all about. What’s happening? Is Sherlock in trouble? Is there something I can do? For Christ’s sake, speak!” John was screaming at this point but he didn’t care.

“John…” Mycroft didn’t sound mad. He sounded worn out and sad. “Please believe me when I say I can’t tell you. It’s not my past, not my story and therefore not my place to tell. But what I can tell you is that Sherlock needs you. And you need him too.” John tried to protest but Mycroft didn’t let him and continued talking as he turned around to face the doctor. “Do not deny it, I can see all the evidence of what had been taking place at Baker Street” he pointed John’s lips that were swollen.

“I… we…” John tried to explain suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“Don’t explain yourself. Not to me” Mycroft said softly looking deep into his eyes. “I’m glad and I’ll do everything within my power to help you. But firstly, you must know a few things about Sherlock’s past. There are things you do not know, things you cannot imagine, John. And they are not good things and have remained buried for a very long time.”

John swallowed.

“Do these things have to do with Mr. Per… with this man?” John wanted to slap himself. _Really,_ he thought to himself. _You were seriously gonna call him Mr. Perfect in front of Mycroft?_  

“Ah, yes indeed” Mycroft said.

“Where they… together? As in a relationship, back at school or something?” John tried again.

Mycroft laughed. It was a bitter laugh that sent goose bumps through John’s spine. It was the kind of laugh that hid bad things.

“No” he said simply. “What my brother and Mr. Walker had… have, it cannot be called a relationship” he averted his eyes for a second and then he looked at John again. “It is a sick, twisted kind of relationship…” he stopped.

John felt like retching. What was that supposed to mean? He was utterly confused and all he really wanted to do was go back at home, kick the creepy guy out, pull Sherlock into bed, make him explain everything to him and then they could stay curled in bed together for at least a year and the world could go fuck itself for all John cared. But first he needed to know, he needed to understand.

“He… hurt Sherlock somehow?”

“More ways than you can imagine” Mycroft’s face was dark, unreadable.

“I don’t understand” John said shaking.

“Naturally not” Mycroft said again. “And I wish I could explain further but like I said, it’s not my story to tell. Before I do anything, I need to ask you one question John and you must be one hundred percent honest with me” he waited for John to nod before he continued. “Do you really love him?”

John starred at him. He wanted to snap and tell him it was none of his bloody business. He wanted to tell him to piss off. He wanted to deny it, it wasn’t Mycroft’s place to read his feelings like an open book. But something in those eyes hold him still at his place. He felt trapped under this gaze that had him quite literally pinned to the wall. He was unable to do anything but say the truth.

“Yes” was all he said and it was so genuinely and passionate that it even surprised himself. He was terribly surprised that he wouldn’t admit it sooner. Maybe then they wouldn’t have to go through all this.

“Good” Mycroft actually smiled this time. A real, genuine smile that reached a little his eyes as well. “I’m glad it’s you.”

“Tell me what to do to help” John didn’t pretend to be annoyed by Mycroft’s interest. He knew he cared about his brother and John didn’t like the few things he’d learnt about Sherlock. He dreaded to know the whole truth about his past but he was sure that it would make him to hate that Walker even more.

“For now just go home. I’ll let you know soon.” Mycroft turned around and left the building without another word.

John stayed there still watching him in awe. He couldn’t exactly understand what had happened today and what exactly was the point of this whole thing but one thing was sure. Sherlock was in deep trouble and John was determined to do anything he could to help the man he loved. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was willing to do anything for this mad detective, he was a slave to this man and this knowledge terrified him…

He sighed and gave up trying to understand any of the Holmes brothers. That was something he’d given up a long time ago. He started walking out of the building and climbed onto non-Anthea’s car and let them drive him home. When they arrived, John nodded to non-Anthea and walked straight to his home. He was a bit nervous. He didn’t really care about what was going to happen, his marriage with Mary had already ended anyway, but he didn’t know what to expect. What was she going to tell John?

The army doctor quickly climbed the stairs and opened the door to their apartment. He walked into the living room but didn’t see Mary anywhere. He shouted her name a couple of times before she replied to him that she was in the bathroom and would be back in a few minutes. John sat on the couch and contemplated whether he should text Sherlock or not. Maybe he should let the man talk to this Walker and approach him first. But what if he thought that John was scared or something similar? What should John do? John decided to just wait what was it that Mary wanted him and then he would wait for Mycroft. That was the best thing to do for now.

“John” Mary came close to him. She was smiling like she’d never smiled before.

“Mary?” John was confused. Mary was supposed to be mad because he neglected her all the time, wasn’t she? So why was she smiling now?

“I have some amazing news that I want to share with you” her smile became wider. “You must have notice that these last days, my behavior isn’t the best”.

John stood there agape. Her behavior wasn’t the best? Was she blaming himself for their distance? He started feeling guilty again. Mary didn’t deserve that, she had done nothing wrong. He wanted to tell her but he didn’t have the time as Mary continued talking without giving him the chance to correct her.

“John” she got closer and sat down next to him.

“Mary… what’s the matter? Is everything okay?” John was getting worried now.

“John, first of all, I want to apologize. I admit I thought you had someone else…” Mary looked at the floor ashamed.      

“What?” John croaked.

What was all that about? Was Mary apologizing?

“I realize that I wasn’t on my best behavior and I’m apologizing.”

Did Mary really think this was her own fault? It was none’s fault, it was John’s feelings he was hiding and denying himself and just couldn’t anymore.

“I don’t… what are you saying?” he was terribly confused at this point.

“Yeah, I know. I was just being silly, but don’t worry. I know now that we’re gonna be together” Mary smiled reassuringly at him. It didn’t reassure him at all.

“How…?” No, this wasn’t going to happen. John had made up his mind and he had taken his final decision. He was going to talk to Mary and clear things up with her. Then he was going to find Sherlock and have a proper talk with him and then hopefully they’d finally crawl over that bed that John had been dreaming about for over a decade.

“John, I need you to remain calm…”she suddenly moved to him and hugged him tight.

“Mary” John took a deep breath. He had taken his decision and those theatrics weren’t going to change his mind. He’d ask for a divorce, he belonged to Sherlock. He carefully moved back and unwrapped her arms from around his neck.

“John, I don’t know how to tell you” she grabbed his arm and placed it on her stomach.

John had to restrain himself not to retch all over her. No, that couldn’t be the case, it was impossible. They hadn’t… for a long time and they were always careful. No, this was just a misunderstanding. This couldn’t be happening now. But the tears of happiness on Mary’s face indicated different things. But how this could have happened? It was simple not possible. John took a deep breath again and tried to calm down. He was sure this was just a big mistake.

“Mary… I don’t think… what are you trying to say?” he was stumbling on his own words and he knew it but he didn’t care. He needed a clear answer and he wanted it right now.

And then Mary uttered those three words that under different circumstances might have brought great joy to both of them. But right now it just looked like this was a big lie. He felt like none of this was really happening. John wished that none of this were actually happening. Right when he had admitted his feelings and Sherlock had seemed to return those feelings back. And now that John had started to learn about Sherlock’s past and Mycroft was at his side, everything could have been perfect. But John still remembered those three words that changed his entire worlds in a matter of three seconds and he felt his heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

Later he would try to tell himself that this was not his real life. That he had somehow gone into a parallel universe and this was a complete different life with a complete different John Watson. But after the shock had passed he realized that this wasn’t just a bad dream, this was his life. And it was his worst nightmare coming true. Everything was now lost, John had to give up on his hopes and dreams as those three bloody words had changed everything for everyone.

“I am pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna be about Sherlock finally asking for some help. Lestrade is always happy to play the father figure in the detective's life. I'm warning you it's gonna be a bit fluffy ;) I'll try to update as soon as possible.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my laptop can't be fixed and I have to buy a new one :( Until then I must ask you to be patient because the updates won't be very frequent. I typed this entire chapter in my phone, so it was really difficult and again I'm sorry about the mistakes. It's time for a little paternal Lestrade ;)

Sherlock slowly came to his senses. He registered a cold surface in which he was lying at and he could feel his whole body shivering because of the cold. He carefully tried to open his eyes and take a look around him. The morning light blinded him momentarily and he immediately closed his eyes again wincing in discomfort. He tried moving his arms and felt a blinding pain overwhelming every part of his body. He groaned in pain and tried to open his eyes again carefully.

He saw that he was still on the floor of their living room. He couldn’t move at all. The pain was excruciating and there wasn’t a part in his body that didn’t hurt. He groaned again and tried to remember what had happened. He could remember John being in the flat, John touching him, kissing him and it had been perfect. And then he remembered Garth. After John had left, Garth had almost strangled him. He had repeatedly hit his limp body until he had grown tired and then he had stripped him down and probably raped him again. Sherlock couldn’t remember it happening but he could still feel the dry sperm between his legs.  

He coughed and winced when he saw the blood coming out of his mouth. He had to move, to get out of there. He didn’t know where Garth was but he couldn’t see him anywhere around the flat and he couldn’t hear him either, so he supposed that he had left. Sherlock felt a complete mess and he gasped when he realized just how close he’d been to dying. Garth was really dangerous; he was always violent but never to this extent. He was always careful not to hurt Sherlock seriously but now the detective could see that the other man was completely out of control and for the first time he felt strong, overwhelming fear for his life.

It was obvious that he had to get away from there. He needed help. Last night was the final straw, he was now afraid that one day Garth would hurt him so badly that he would never wake up again. And the mere idea that this man had practically raped his unconscious body was enough to make him turn his head and vomited violently. He remained in this position, bent in half and continued coughing and retching as phlegm and blood emitted from his mouth and fell to the floor. He whimpered and closed his eyes again, staying as still as possible, trying to rest his abused body.

But he knew he couldn’t stay there for a long time. He had to get out of there immediately, before the cruel man was back and tried to finish him off. Sherlock knew that in his state, there was no way that he would be able to fight the more muscular man. So he carefully lifted his body from the floor, gritting his teeth and taking a sharp breath. He glanced around the living room trying to find his clothes until he spotted them tossed all the way to the kitchen. He noted that his shirt was torn and there was no way the detective was going to his bedroom to get a new one.

Moaning in pain, he crawled over there and with trembling hands he pulled his trousers on and then turned to fetch his beloved belstaff coat and he thanked a God he didn’t believe existed that it was long enough to cover his naked torso and feet. He might have had his trousers back on but he still felt naked and vulnerable and he wanted as many clothes as possible wrapped around him. He carefully wrapped the long coat around his battered body and winced at how big it was to his waist. He had lost some more weight and apparently was too skinny and as a result, the coat was too big for him but he didn’t give a toss.

He took a deep breath and rose to his feet. He could feel his knees trembling and he hated how weak he was. He took another deep breath trying to compose himself and grabbed his shoes. He then ran out of the flat his bare feet hitting the floor and then the pavement once he was outside. With his shoes in his hand and his bloodied appearance, he must have looked like a crazy and he prayed that he would find a cab to take him. He raised his free hand and screamed at the top of his lungs and a cab magically appeared in the street and stopped in front of him like always. He frantically opened the door and threw himself inside.

“Oi, mate, you okay?” the driver asked worried.

“Yes, fine just drive away” the detective screamed at the man who obeyed almost frightened by the other’s appearance and behavior.

“Where… where should I go?” the man asked.

Sherlock paused and looked at him as if he was the crazy one. Where on earth was he going to go? His first thought was John, of course. But he couldn’t show up at his house suddenly in this state and beg for help. First of all, Mary would be there and he didn’t want to upset them more than he knew he already had and second, he would be in danger. If Garth looked for him, which he was sure he would, then John would be Garth’s first target and Sherlock wasn’t gonna let anything happen to him. He had vowed that he would always protect him and that’s what he would do.

Mycroft was the next one that came to his mind. He could always go to his brother but that way he would risk beginning a whole new “war”. Mycroft would be mad at him for not telling him sooner, disappointed even. He would reprimand Sherlock of course for being such an idiot and allowing this to happen to him for a second time and then Sherlock was positive that he would make sure that Garth was murdered slowly and painfully. No he couldn’t have that. He wanted Garth far away from him but he didn’t want him dead and there was a part of him that hated himself for holding such a strong sentiment for the man who had been torturing him ever since he was sixteen. No, Mycroft would definitely upset him and would do more harm than good so he was out of the equation too.

He could always go to Molly too. Good, kind Molly who was there for him whenever he needed her and never asked for anything in return. Good, loyal Molly who had helped him fake his death and had hold his secret all these years and had tried to help John without telling him the truth no matter how much she wanted to do so. She would help him; of course, she would help him without asking questions and without judging him. But he would endanger her too and he couldn’t do that, she deserved so much better than this. No, he couldn’t go to Molly either.

So where could he go? Who could he trust to keep him safe and help him and be able to protect themselves against Garth if they had to? He could feel a massive headache and once again he felt a strong need to lean his head back to the sits and pass out for at least a day and wake up healed both physically and emotionally. He suddenly came back to reality and realized that the cabbie was still looking at him, waiting for a reply. Sherlock frowned.

“I don’t know” he whispered finally.         

And then there was an image in his mind and he could hear a voice in his head speaking softly to him:

_“I’m just saying if you ever need anything… you know where to find me. Don’t hesitate.”_

Should he try? Of course, why hadn’t he thought about this earlier? Lestrade could help him and he was a bloody copper. Even Garth wouldn’t be so stupid as to go after him and even if he did, then Lestrade would be able to fight him. Maybe he would be able to arrest him. That way he was going to stay away from Sherlock without being dead. The detective almost wept in relief. Could it have been so simple all along?

He told the cabbie the address and then he put on his shoes. He hadn’t realized that his hands were still trembling until he couldn’t quite tie the laces. He tried to relax but it was impossible. He closed his eyes but all he could see was Garth’s angry face and hands hurting him. He placed a hand in his throat and winced in pain. He could still feel the other’s hands trying to choke him and for a moment he had really thought that he was going to die.

“Everything alright back there?” the cabbie asked. He didn’t sound scared anymore. If anything, he sounded worried. Of course he wouldn’t like to have to take a mad, half conscious man to the paramedics in case Sherlock passed out there.

“Fine” he mumbled and leaned back on the seats.

He closed his eyes again and tried to escape to his mind palace. He found himself back at his flat, before Garth came back to his life, before he had jumped and died and before John had married Marry. He was sitting on his bed and he wasn’t alone. John was there too. It was Sherlock at whom John smiled with that joyous smile. “You’re beautiful”, John said to him and in his mind he was, his body strong and healthy and unmarked, and he reached both arms for his blogger and John had laid him down gently as though he were something precious. The doctor traced his fingers down Sherlock’s face and neck and over his chest, his touch was warm and safe, and Sherlock arched his back and went pliant in the shorter man’s arms.

“We’re here” the voice brought him back to reality where John was gone and he was alone.

“Thanks” Sherlock managed and searched his pockets praying to find some money. He sighed in relief when he caught the notes and handed them to the cabbie.

He got out of the car and stood in the pavement watching the building in front of him. He contemplated his options once again but he shook his head forcefully. He wasn’t going to back down now. He needed help and Lestrade would help him, he had helped him in the past. He didn’t want Garth, he was in love with John and now that John had shown that he was interested in him too, there was no way he was going to let Garth come between them.

Taking another deep breath, he walked to the front door and tentatively he rang the bell. Nobody answered him and for a second he thought he should turn around and run but he restrained himself. He knocked the door again with a trembling hand praying that Lestrade was home. He felt dizzy again and everything around him was out of focus. He didn’t want to faint in the middle of the pavement, especially if Lestrade wasn’t home. Not knowing what to do and starting feeling really desperate, he growled in exasperation and banged his head on the door so hard his head that for a second he thought he might break it.

Of course that only made things worse as he could now barely keep his balance and he searched blindly with his hand for something to grab onto. He couldn’t see clearly and he felt his body shaking with effort to hold him upright. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing but it was impossible. He had to lean back against the door to keep himself from falling down. But he hadn’t been prepared for what happened next. The door suddenly opened and the detective yelled in surprise and fell backwards.

“What the fuck?”

The older man was shocked to feel the weight of someone falling on him but he managed to catch the man before he hit the floor. It all happened far too quickly and Lestrade needed a bit of time to realize that the stranger who was knocking his door and was currently limp in his arms, was in fact Sherlock. It took him a little more time to see the predicament Sherlock was in and he cursed loudly as he pulled the younger man to his feet. Sherlock tried to regain his balance but it was impossible and he swayed a bit before he started falling again. Greg immediately put both his arms around the slender man and supported his weight. He then half carried him to the couch.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Are you okay?” the detective inspector asked in worry as Sherlock begun couching blood on his carpet and soon he chocked.

“Water” he managed to whisper and he started coughing again and winced in pain as his ribs were hurting like hell.

Lestade darted to the kitchen and was soon back with a glass of water. He handed it over to the man who was lying on the couch in fatal position. Sherlock whimpered in pain and coughed again. Lestrade gently lifted his head and supported it with one hand while he carefully brought the glass to the detective’s lips with the other. Sherlock drank greedily and when he was done, Lestrade placed his head again on the couch cushion.

Once Sherlock had calmed down a bit, Lestrade asked him:

“Sherlock, what the hell? You scared the shit out of me, what’s happened to you?” he had a good guess of what had happened to him but he wanted Sherlock to admit it. He needed the man to say it.

“Can I have more water first?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade went to the kitchen and brought him another glass of water, which Sherlock drunk immediately.

“I know you’re with my brother” Sherlock said quietly.

Lestrade only nodded in acknowledgment. Of course he knew, bloody Holmes brothers…

“I know that he’s told you about my… past relationships. Well… I say relationship” Sherlock slowly went to a sitting position.

“He has told me several things about you, yes” Greg admitted. “But no details, it’s your past and it’s your place to tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

Sherlock looked Lestrade dead in the eye.

“What has he told you about Garth?”

Lestrade’s heart started beating incredibly fast. He knew it, he had been certain this piece of shit was back. He had seen the bruises on Sherlock’s face but he had hoped that he might have been mistaken. Of course he hadn’t.

“Not much” the detective inspector sighed. “Just that you two were in an… uhm, unhealthy relationship.”    

Sherlock nodded. He took a deep breath and continued talking.

“Garth has been back in London for a few weeks” the detective noted the slight frown on Lestrade’s face.

“Has he been in touch with you?” Greg asked and dreaded the answer.

He already knew but he had no idea what has been happening between the two men. He could see Sherlock start panicking and he threw himself to the younger man and wrapped him in his arms. The lanky man pressed himself to the older one, his battered body seeking comfort. And just like that, the detective broke. He started sobbing loudly and trembling in the other man’s arms. He started talking nonstop. He told Lestrade everything. He told him about the first night Garth had showed up on his doorstep and raped him and about all the other times after that. He told him about the abuse and the confusion and he finally admitted that he was in love with John and he explained what had happened last night and how terrified he’d been. When he was finished, he was surprised and shocked he had admitted everything to Lestrade. He had admitted things that he was afraid to admit even to himself, but if he wanted to be honest, he felt a lot better.

Lestrade remained firmly on his place cradling the sobbing man in his chest, trying hard and failing to hold back his own tears. He listened carefully to Sherlock and rubbed his back when the other was babbling nonsense. He muttered comforting words and let the other man cry his anger and frustration. And when he had no more tears to shed, Lestrade carefully disentangle himself from the other’s grip and went to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit. Once he was back, he started cleaning the wounds on the detective’s face. He winced at the marks on his throat but what really scared him was the fact that Sherlock remained silent and unresisting.

“Are you okay?” he knew it was probably the most stupid question he could ask the man in front of him but he needed to hear him speak.

“Fine” he whispered.

Greg sighed in relief and finished cleaning Sherlock’s wounds.

“That’ll require stitches” he said and pointed at Sherlock’s lips. The other just shrugged so Lestrade got back to work.

“Thank you” Sherlock murmured when Lestrade had finished.

“So, what happens now?” Greg asked.

Sherlock lowered his head trying to avoide his eyes.

“Don’t tell my brother” the detective inspector raised his eyebrows ready to protest but Sherlock didn’t let him. “Please. Don’t let him know, at least not yet. I need some time. Don’t tell John either” he added scared.

“Okay” the older man agreed reluctantly. “But why? Why don’t you want me to tell Myc? He could help you, he will help you.”

Sherlock was still avoiding his eyes and didn’t reply. Lestrade thought the conversation was over and went to the kitchen to see if he had anything to feed Sherlock. The detective had always been thin but now he looked like a skeleton with his bones sticking out of everywhere. He stopped when he heard the other whispering something.

“What?” he asked and turned around to face the detective who was now looking at him.

“He’d be… disappointed” Sherlock said finally and Greg gulped in surprise.  

“Disappointed?” he looked into Sherlock’s eyes and was taken aback at what he saw there. Suddenly it wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective sitting in front of him. It was William Holmes, a nineteen year old boy who had OD’d in his arms almost ten years ago. He saw the same desperation and innocence in those big blue eyes which were as sad as he’d ever seen them.

“I know he would be. He’d just be mad I let that happen to me for a second time” Sherlock pulled his bony knees to his chest and hugged them.

“Sherlock” Greg immediately forgot all about food and went to sit right next to the other man. He took off his coat and sighed when he saw that he didn’t wear a shirt. The bruises were visible on Sherlock’s naked torso and he didn’t like the way his bones were so prominent. He hugged the younger man again trying to warm him and Sherlock curled into a small ball to Greg’s chest. The older man begun stroking his hair, something he knew would calm Sherlock.    

“Thank you, Greg” Sherlock murmured and pressed himself harder to Greg’s body. Lestrade sighed and tightened his arms around the other protectively.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not going to talk to your brother under some conditions. You have to promise me you’re not going back to Baker Street.”

“I didn’t intent to” Sherlock replied.

“You’re going to stay here with me until you’re healed enough. And if he tries to come anywhere near you, you’ll tell me. If he contacts you, you’ll tell me. And you will promise me right now that you’ll not leave this house until you’re healed.”

“Okay” Sherlock said with his head firmly on Lestrade’s chest.

“Okay. Now talk to me because it obviously helps.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Everything. Start with how you feel.”

“What’s the point?” Sherlock buried his face deeper into Greg’s torso and twirled until he found a more comfortable position.

“You know it makes you feel better. Do you remember when you were nineteen? You refused to accept psychological help and you started talking to me instead. You got better” he said and grabbed Sherlock’s chin and lifted his head so he would look into his eyes. “Do you love John?”

“I do” Sherlock said honestly and to his horror he could feel tears running down his face. “I… I can’t.”

Lestrade tenderly wiped the tears away.

“I understand that you’re afraid and confused” he said. “But at some point you have to stop being so angry, you have to stop being so sad, you have to stop killing yourself and start being a little gentle with yourself. At some point you have to just let it all go and be happy, you have to spread love instead of being afraid of it. You have to love yourself and everyone around you before it’s too late. Don’t waste away being unhappy over trivial things, dear. Don’t do it. Don’t do it to yourself and don’t let other people do it to you. And John loves you too.”

Sherlock looked at him.

“I don’t deserve it” he said sadly.

“Of course you do. How long did you stay with Garth?” he asked.

“Almost four years” he looked at the floor again. “I know, I know, you’re gonna ask why I stayed, you’re gonna think I’m an idiot. But… believe it or not, I loved him. I’ve always put his happiness before mine and maybe that’s why I’m miserable. I’ve put everyone’s happiness before mine expecting someone to do the same and no one ever did.”

“I know” Greg hugged him tighter. “Dear, someday you won’t remember this pain you thought would last forever. Sherlock, talk to John. You two great idiots love each other.”

“He doesn’t love me” Sherlock said bitterly.

“Of course he does. Listen to me…”

“No, you listen to me” the detective interrupted him. “John doesn’t know me. He knows nothing of my past. Who I was, what I did. He doesn’t know what I am and therefore he can’t love me. And when he finds out, he’s either going to run away repulsed or start pitying me. And I don’t know which one is worse because I can’t stand either.”

Lestrade didn’t talk. He just stayed there holding Sherlock and rubbing his back.

“You know, I always thought relationships either end in heartbreak or marriage and I don’t know which one scares me more. My brother always told me that when the day comes that someone tells me they’ll love me forever, I should not let it consume me, because there will be a day that will come, when they will tell me that they don’t love me anymore, and there will be nothing left of me. Apparently he was right.”

“No” Greg said. “You shouldn’t let it consume you but you don’t have to deny love. I mean look at me and Mycroft now. I bet he doesn’t believe in caring is not an advantage anymore. When we first went out together I couldn’t help but think that I shouldn’t be with him. What would the world say? What does he want with me? They would never let us be together. But we are. And we are happy.”

“I don’t know what it is like to love someone who the world tells me I am not supposed to love” Sherlock admitted. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be to love someone I am afraid to kiss on the streets” he took a deep breath. "But I do know what it’s like to love someone who I cannot be with. I know how it feels to have my brain tell me one thing and my heart another. To live with the knowledge that if circumstances had been different, I would be with the one I love. I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them.”

“Sherlock, you can be with John. He loves you.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s married now” the younger man shook his head in exasperation. “I know that he’s got everything that I couldn’t give to him. I know that he’s got everything but I've got nothing without him” he bowed his head in defense.

“I think we both know that marriage was a mistake. People make mistakes all the time. Most of them can be corrected. Don’t waste any more time.”

Sherlock looked at him with some hope in his eyes.

“I love him. And he loves me too.” he said again mostly to himself.

“If you love him so much, it will work” Greg said. Then Sherlock turned to Lestrade and smiled.

“You can’t possibly imagine how much I love him. Before John came to find me at Baker Street yesterday, I had wanted to kill myself several times” Greg instinctively tighten his arms around the young man and he tucked him carefully to his chest again.

“I’m glad you didn’t” he said.

“Well, maybe I would have. But then John came last night and I had this beautiful feeling. It really is amazing how someone could make my heart beat so fast when I didn’t want it to beat at all.”

Greg carefully disentangled Sherlock from his lap and placed him gently on the couch. He fetched a blanket from his room and covered Sherlock’s half naked body with it.

“Sleep now and get some more rest. Sherlock, I’m going to help you get rid of him, I promise. Do you want me to call John to come here?”

“Let me sleep first. You call him later” the detective said sleepily and curled up again. “He might come after me” he said in a quiet voice.

“Let him try to come anywhere near you and I’ll murder him” Lestrade growled in anger. “He won’t lay a hand on you ever again. You’re safe here, that I can promise you.” Greg was vibrating in anger.

He couldn’t help but feeling protective over Sherlock. He could still remember that kid who was so desperate to die on him and yet he tried so hard to stay alive. He had found Sherlock in a drugs den twelve years ago, when he was only nineteen. The poor lad had overdosed and had almost died literally in Lestrade’s arms. But the young sergeant had talked to him while driving to the hospital. He had even sang to him! He had done anything he could think of to keep the kid conscious and had managed to save his life. Many colleagues had congratulated him while others had dismissed him telling him the boy wasn’t worth it and he was most likely going back to the same den once he was out of A&E.

But Lestrade hadn't heard them. He had seen something in this boy’s eyes the moment he opened them and they landed on him. He could see the intelligence in them and he wanted nothing more than to get this kid cleaned. So he had stayed with him, no matter how many times the boy had tried to drive him away. He had talked to him, listened to him and when he realized how smart Sherlock really was, he started consulting him for his cases. Simple and of non importance at first but soon the man was practically working together with the boy and in no time he had found himself jumping from sergeant to a bloody inspector.

Now that Greg looked at the man who was lying on his couch, he couldn’t feel happier and more proud. He was glad he had found Sherlock and had helped him get clean. And he was even happier Sherlock had let him and had returned the favor helping Greg in his own way. Ever since then, he felt like a father to the younger man and no matter what the arrogant git said, the inspector knew that he loved him too.

“You should have come to me earlier. Or to your brother. He wouldn’t have been disappointed. No matter what the two of you say, you love each other dearly and you’re being ridiculous” he had to say it.

Sherlock scowled.

“Mycroft doesn’t even care about me” he said and Greg wanted to pull his hair in frustration and punch the other man.

“Of course he does” he yelled. “There’s no other love like the love for a brother. There’s no other love like the love from a brother.”

The consulting detective eyed him carefully contemplating his words. He dropped his head and asked in a small voice.

“It was nice growing up with someone like him – someone to lean on, someone to count on… someone to tell on!” he smiled when Greg laughed.

“I bet it was” he said and then Sherlock turned serious.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Greg was taken aback by the question but he soon realized the man was speaking metaphorically and it was probably about Garth.

“In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves” he answered. “I know I promised you I won’t tell him anything and I won’t. But I think you should tell him. You’re his little brother. He’ll always love you and care about you no matter what you do.”

“I know” Sherlock smiled. “It’s what big brothers do. It’s great leverage; I abuse it all the time!”

Greg laughed again. It was a good thing Sherlock was joking. It meant that he was feeling better.

“Why did you take him back, if you don’t mind me asking? I won’t judge you, Sherlock” he said when he saw the other man’s look.

“I suppose I thought that maybe there was still something. Maybe he had changed. Took me less than ten minutes to realize my mistake. But I thought I had lost John forever and I’ve always been crap with emotions. I just… I’ve always tried to cling into everything I loved. It’s why I try not to love anything or anyone now. I could never understand how something I loved so much could leave me like this. This is also why Mycroft can bring me to my knees with just one word. Redbeard. It took me, of all people, longer than any child who’s ever lived to understand that when things die, they don’t come back.”

Greg nodded sympathetically.

“It will be okay, Sherlock” he said again still laughing. “Everything will be okay. We’ll get rid of Garth, you’ll be with John and I’ll make sure you have a long conversation with your brother. Everything will be okay” he reassured the other man who yawned and closed his eyes.

"I think that considering the circumstances that hope is rather optimistic" he said tiredly.

"True. But who are we if we can't believe that tomorrow will bring a better world?" Greg smiled. His mother used to tell him that all the time until he had actually believed it.

Sherlock nodded and let sleep take him. Greg went to the kitchen. It was still early and he had nothing to do. Should he call Mycroft or John? He had promised not to tell them anything about Garth but he hadn’t said anything about letting them know where Sherlock was. And Greg knew that after his last conversation with Mycroft, if the man tried to find his brother and found out he wasn’t at Baker Street anymore, he would freak out. But if he told him, his brother stayed with him, Mycroft would definitely understand what was happening and then Sherlock would feel betrayed. And the inspector didn’t want that to happen now that the detective had finally worked the courage to come to him for help. Deep inside, Greg was glad Sherlock came to him. It meant that the man truly trusted him.

So Greg didn’t call Mycroft but instead he texted John telling him that Sherlock would be occupied for the next few days with a case and he shouldn’t go to their flat. John didn’t reply, which was weird but Greg dismissed it as he thought he might have been busy at the clinic. Now that Sherlock was sleeping and there was silence, Greg had all the time to consider what he should do next. He was going to go after that asshole, of course and he would make sure that he would pay for everything he’d done to Sherlock.

Sherlock wasn’t alone anymore. Garth couldn’t play with his head anymore, Greg wouldn’t let him. Garth had a new rival now who was determined to win this twisted game. But something wasn’t right. Why would Garth turn up after all these years and suddenly fall into Sherlock’s arms again? Could it be that someone had brought him back? Someone who wanted Sherlock out of the picture? But who? They knew that Moriarty was dead; the video was a fake. That had been confirmed. So who could possibly want to hurt Sherlock so bad that he would be completely incapable to do… well anything?

There was something, something deep. He had to find out whether someone had actually brought Garth back or if it was just a coincidence, which he didn’t believe to be true. If there was someone indeed who had brought Garth back to turn Sherlock’s into life a nightmare, it must’ve been someone who had access to his past. Someone who wasn’t joking and really wanted Sherlock hurt, not physically but mentally. Greg started to think there was more in this story than what he had initially thought. This was likely to turn into a case. The most difficult and yet important case he’s ever had. And he was afraid that this time he would not be able to use Sherlock’s help.

Greg went to the bathroom needing a shower. He always thought better while showering. He didn’t like where this was going. He had a very bad feeling that once this story was over, everyone’s lives would change and end up in smithereens. He knew that those who fight fire with fire usually end up with ashes and he was terrified that this time they wouldn’t be able to rise from these ashes again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know the characters are completely OOC but I like them this way! I personally love Lestrade being all protective and helpful. And smart, he's getting somewhere... Oh and BTW soon enough, I'll reveal Mary's IMPORTANT part to this story... Get ready ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! I'm SO deeply sorry for the long wait but like I said I didn't have a laptop. Now I've got a new one and I can finally write again! So here's this chapter, it contains some Johnlock as our boys FINALLY get to confess to each other! BIG SURPRISE I'm beginning to unraveling the mystery of Mary, you'll finally find out what her role is! Prepare to be surprised and moved (I personally loved writing about Sherlock's and John's feelings and confessions) I hope you enjoy!

John kept his eyes closed. He was sitting on his bed alone. After Mary had told him about the pregnancy, he had felt his entire world shuttering to pieces. He couldn’t believe that he was going to have a child. After all this time, praying for a family, he finally had the chance to have a normal one with the woman he had married, the woman he loved. So he should be happy, grateful that life had decided that he was worth a family after everything he had done. And yet, John didn’t feel in the slightest happy. He felt as if the whole world had turned upside down and he didn’t know what to do.

He could feel the desperation building up inside him. He wanted to scream and hit someone and he also wanted to laugh and be happy that he was going to be a father. He had always wanted a child but something had changed the last years and he knew exactly what. Sherlock. He had met Sherlock and everything he knew, everything he had ever believed about himself had changed. Suddenly he was in love with a man and he no longer wanted a family. And the question remained. Was it even his own baby? He knew he was ridiculous and terrible for even thinking that his wife had cheated on him but he couldn’t help but wonder. They hadn’t had sex in a long time and when they had, John had been careful. He was sure he had been careful. Should he ask for a DNA test? Or would that make Mary mad at him for considering the possibility of her cheating?

And then there was Sherlock. What exactly was Sherlock to him now? He knew they couldn’t possibly be considered friends after that night in Sherlock’s flat but what did that mean for them? They weren’t lovers, not yet. They weren’t friends either, if John wanted to be completely honest, he knew that they never were “just friends”. So where did that leave them? Did Sherlock even want to see John again? Had he talked with his _boyfriend?_ The word was incredibly painful for John to think but he knew there wasn’t another term for what Sherlock and Mr. Perfect were. Everything was so wrong and John didn’t know how to fix it. He had promised to Sherlock that he would fix everything but he didn’t know how.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes placing his head in his hands. He tried very hard not to cry but it was getting harder and harder to hold back the tears. He didn’t know what to do anymore and he felt lost. Before this happened he had a goal. Clean things up with Sherlock, find out if his feelings are reciprocated, then talk to Mary and break up with her gently and then move back to Baker Street and be with Sherlock. It had all been so simple in his head when he had returned from hi honeymoon. And then he had found out that Sherlock had a boyfriend who appeared to live with him and now Mary was pregnant. Now that he finally had a chance with the man he loved, who could possibly love him back, his wife was pregnant! Why was life so unfair?          

He took another deep breath. All he knew was that he had to talk to Sherlock. He didn’t know what they were and he didn’t know how the other man felt but he knew that he had kissed Sherlock and Sherlock had let him and he had kissed him back. Maybe Molly was right, maybe Sherlock loved him back. And if that was true, John would never let Mary and the baby come between them. He would never let anyone come between them. But what if Sherlock did want to be with him and didn’t want his child? John loved the detective more than life itself but he didn’t know if he would be able to never see his kid.

He heard his phone ringing and averted his eyes from the floor. He stood from the bed and retrieved his mobile from the pocket of his coat. He had a new text from Lestrade. He frowned. Had something bad happened?

_Can you come over my house? Sherlock’s here, a bit not good._

 

John gulped and panicked. Had something happened to Sherlock? It must have been something serious otherwise Sherlock wouldn’t go to Greg for help. The bloody man was far too proud and arrogant to admit he needed assistance and seek for help. His mind went back to his meeting with Mycroft. He had learnt that this _Walker_ had hurt Sherlock in the past but he didn’t know any details. And if Mycroft had said that he’d do everything within his power to help them be together, that meant that this Walker guy must be really dangerous. What if, Sherlock had talked to him and he’d gotten mad and had hurt Sherlock? The mere thought left John wanting to throw up and kill the man at the same time.

He grabbed his coat and left the bedroom. Mary was in the kitchen cooking and singing. She was in a great mood, the smile never leaving her face and when she saw John she beamed at him. John felt pangs of guilt. It wasn’t fair for Mary either. She hadn’t done anything wrong and she didn’t deserve John’s neglect and their baby definitely deserved his or her father. So John smiled at her in return.

“I’m going out. I’ll meet with detective inspector Lestrade. Do you remember him, he was at our wedding” he explained.

“I remember him” Mary nodded.

“So I’ll see you later”.

“Has something happened?” she asked worriedly.

“Nope. We’re just going for a pint. I’ll be back for lunch” he promised and then ran out of the house to find a cab.

 

In the meantime Lestrade was sitting on his armchair drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. He should be back at his office but he didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone. The detective was asleep on his couch with a blanket wrapped around him tightly. He was sleeping rather peacefully for a man who had almost died a couple of hours ago but he was Sherlock Holmes. He was probably lost somewhere in his mind and Lestrade wasn’t gonna wake him up. He had called John but now he seemed to be having second thoughts. He had promised Sherlock he wouldn’t tell the doctor anything and he would keep his promise. But he thought that maybe Sherlock would want John when he woke up but now he wasn’t so sure the man would appreciate his friend’s… _boyfriend’s?_ company.

He had refused to go to a hospital and Greg had attended his injuries. He had cleaned the cuts, most of which were just superficial, but he wasn’t a doctor and he needed a second opinion. But what would he tell John? The man would definitely demand some explanations and Lestrade couldn’t think of a plausible explanation. He had ran out of excuses and Sherlock was currently asleep and would be taken aback once John was here so he wouldn’t have time to come up with a good lie.

The man on the couch moaned lightly and tossed and turned in his sleep. A nightmare, perhaps. Greg sighed and not knowing what to do, he got up and approached the sleeping detective. Once he sat down on the edge of the couch, he began rubbing soothing circles on the slender man’s back. Sod this, he needed John. No, Sherlock needed John and John needed Sherlock. John’s place was right here, next to the detective, comforting him and everything else was rather insignificant. Besides, if there was one person in this world that Sherlock would listen to, it was no doubt John Watson. Maybe the man could convince the detective to ask help from his brother and then Mycroft could take over the situation.

He watched the younger man sleeping and he was suddenly reminded of a nineteen year old junky sleeping on his couch wrapped up on that exact same blanket. An overwhelming desire to laugh came over him. The irony of life. This boy, who had saved several years ago was now again on his couch, so lost and desperate for help without even knowing it and Greg was once again willing to do anything and everything to help the, no longer boy, but man, if he would simply bring himself to ask. He could only hope that Sherlock wouldn’t hate him for calling John without his permission and wouldn’t run away. The thought of Sherlock going back to that asshole made goosebumps ran up and down his arms.    

Lestrade didn’t have more time to think about it as the bell rang twice. He recognized the signs: maximum pressure just under the half-second. It was definitely John and he was definitely anxious, to say the least. Greg went to open the door ready to gag John if he had to, in order to let the poor detective get some more much needed sleep.  

“What happened? Where’s Sherlock?” John asked frantically and he tried to pass Lestrade but the taller man caught him before he managed to get to the living room and wake Sherlock up.

“Shh, for the love of God, be quiet. He’s asleep” Greg whispered.

John ignored him and fled to the sleeping man on the couch. He crouched down next to Sherlock and immediately started to examine him. Greg closed the door and sighed. He returned to the living room and watched the doctor for a few seconds. John looked frantic. He gently touched Sherlock’s face and brushed a curl from his eyes. He cradled his cheek and blinked away his tears. Then, he turned to Lestrade and eyed him like a mother hawk.

“What happened to him?” he asked and gritted his teeth.

“Garth happened to him” Greg admitted. It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t hide this from John. He wouldn’t tell him everything Sherlock had told him but he could give him a little information. He was a doctor after all that had to examine a patient. It was like Lestrade _had_ to tell him.

John’s answer was a blank stare. He had clearly no idea who he was talking about.  

“Garth Walker. His… boyfriend” Greg explained further.

John’s face deformed and his facial expression became one of pure rage. He straightened and lifted his chin, somehow making himself look taller. He wasn’t the good, kind John Watson anymore. He had turned into Captain John H. Watson that ordered people around and none dared to disobey him or go against him. He felt like hitting someone. He wanted to find Garth and kill him. He growled loudly and Sherlock behind him stirred. He blinked rapidly, his eyes unfocused and quickly sat up in alarm but moaned in pain.

“Shh, Sherlock, it’s fine” John’s voice was smooth again and he knelt next to his friend placing one hand on his forehead and the other on his bony shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re fine” he said.

“John?” Sherlock tried to focus and blinked his eyes relentlessly.

“It’s fine, I’m here now. I’m here” John said again and subconsciously leaned towards Sherlock, his body needing to be close to the other man’s. He wanted so desperately to wrap his arms around the detective and hold him tight, shielding him from the world until he was healed and safe. But he knew he would never dare to do that with Lestrade in the room.

“What… where…?” Sherlock was trying to understand what was happening. He groaned in pain and grasped his head.

“Easy now” John helped him to a sitting position. “I want you to tell me what happened” John said and brought one hand to gently rub the detective’s sharp cheekbone, not caring about Lestrade. Sherlock leaned to the touch.

“I was injured, apparently” he tried rolling his eyes but instead he had to close them in discomfort.

“I can see that” John was patient, like he always was.

“Then you’ll have to be more specific” Sherlock leaned to John without realizing it.

“I don’t know how. I don’t know who” John said and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“I’ll leave you two alone” Greg said and walked to his bedroom. No one protested.

“Sherlock” John turned his attention back to the detective. “What’s going on? Please tell me” he begged.

“Did Greg phone you?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes” John admitted. He didn’t even comment on how the man got Lestrade’s first name right. “But don’t you dare get mad at him. He did the right thing, he was worried and so am I”. He then looked straight into Sherlock’s blue eyes and pleaded. “Please Sherlock, tell me what happened”.

The detective sighed and looked at the floor with sad eyes. He was avoiding John’s pleading ones. He couldn’t bring himself tell John the truth. He knew the man would be disappointed or even disgusted and he couldn’t bear watch John hating him. Of course the doctor would ask him why hadn’t he done anything to help himself or why hadn’t he said anything to anyone and Sherlock wouldn’t have an answer to either of these questions. Because it was true, he didn’t know why he had let that happen to himself for a second time. He couldn’t understand how he, of all people had put up with Garth’s behavior and had stayed with him so long. He hated himself, like he used to back then, and yet he did nothing to make things better. He really was pathetic and he definitely deserved the abuse.

“Was it because of me?” John tried to help. He avoided Sherlock’s eyes this time.

“What? No, of course not, why would you think that?” Sherlock felt horrible that John would even contemplate the idea of him being guilty.

“Well, you two were, _are_ ” he quickly corrected himself, “together and he kind of saw us kissing. I’m assuming he wasn’t happy”. He looked at Sherlock’s eyes again with uncertainty in his own eyes. “What exactly did that kiss mean?”

Sherlock closed his eyes. He had thought about that but he didn’t know the answer. What did it mean to John? For Sherlock, it was everything he ever wanted, he felt like he was free again, he felt… happy. After all these years, he thought he felt happy again. Of course he wasn’t sure because he couldn’t really remember what happiness felt like but he assumed it was something like this. It was incredibly simple at the time. Sherlock loved John, Sherlock breathed for John, Sherlock lived for John. And with that kiss, there was a hope that maybe John felt the same for him too. But did he dare to say it aloud? Or John would get mad and abandon him once and for all? He had a wife now, after all.

“I… it… it was…” he was speechless. He felt he didn’t have the right words to explain this to John but the lack of the previous smile and the dark expression on John’s face told him that this wasn’t the right thing to say.

“It’s okay. It didn’t have to mean something to you” John looked and sounded hurt and Sherlock hated himself for he was the reason.

“No, John, you don’t understand” Sherlock tried to explain. He really did. This was his chance and he wouldn’t blow it. Damn the consequences, if there was a chance John might feel something for him, Sherlock wasn’t gonna miss it. He would tell the man the truth and then, if John left him, he would probably crawl to Lestrade’s bed and die.

“Then explain to me” John’s eyes were hopeful and he was holding both Sherlock’s hands tightly. The hope on John’s face did it and Sherlock suddenly spilled the beans and started talking.

“John, do you remember when I had to fake my suicide? Of course you remember” he said quickly after he saw John’s distraught expression. He hadn’t started well but he had to say it. “I had to die… for Lestrade to live. And Mrs. Hudson. And you. The thing is, the day I met you, you were just a convenient flat mate, someone to share the bills with. And then suddenly you became my best… no, my only friend. And then I found myself happily dying for you” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. “You said that day by my graveside that I saved you. That you were so alone and that I saved you. What I couldn’t say to you back then, it is that you… you were the one who saved me”. Sherlock paused and John’s eyes widened wildly. The hope in his eyes was apparent. Sherlock’s heart began to beat faster.

“Go on” John begged. So Sherlock continued.

“I used to think I was a sociopath. I had been hurt in the past and I promised I wouldn’t let that happen to me ever again. So, I never bothered with other people’s feelings. Instead, I allowed myself freedom but at a horrible cost. A cost I never realized I was paying, until I met you”. Sherlock stopped. _Don’t falter now,_ he mentally begged himself. “From the day we met, I knew you were different, special. Because you, a complete stranger, accepted me as I was, without judgment. You saw something in me that none, not even myself was able to see. You gave me your trust and your friendship and that was something I have never had before and have always wanted”.

“A friend” said John with tearful eyes and tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hands.

“Precisely” Sherlock agreed. “It was like my soul saw you and it kind of went "Oh there you are. I've been looking for you." Over the months that followed, I realized that I had indeed been born with a heart and had once used it. Thanks to you I learned to recognize my own emotions and I was actually able to feel them. The disgust and distrust I held towards sentiment were still strong, so it was an ever present battle between my head and my heart. This is where you came in and saved me, John”. He dared one look at the man in front of him.

John looked amazed. He had never expected such a declaration from the detective. All he had hoped for was an assurance that the kiss had meant something for him as well but this… this was so much better than anything he had ever dreamed for, he had ever hoped for and he couldn’t quite believe it was actually happening. The doctor was determined not to stop the younger man.

“How did I save you Sherlock?” he asked, needing to know. His own heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. Lestrade was long forgotten now, alone to the next room, probably eavesdropping.

“Caught between reason, ruthless logic and emotions so powerful and new to me, I feared the chaos inside my head would destroy me. Would make me less of who I was, of who I am. Until I realized that you made me who I am. You made me stronger. I once told you that you were a conductor of light but then you were so much more. You were my own conductor of light, always keeping me sane. I needed only you to keep me whole”.

By now John had let the tears run freely down his face. He was silently crying out of happiness, refusing to take his eyes from his detective. This was real. This was what happiness felt like. John knew it because it was something he had never felt before and he had never considered himself really happy. Not even with his wife. Content? Sure. But not happy. Not like he was with Sherlock. Never and with anyone did he feel like when he was with Sherlock.

“Was it selfishness, my desire to keep you alive, even though I knew you would suffer? Is that what it came down to on that roof, in the end? Admittedly, I had to fake my death for so many reasons, all of them justifiable. But I couldn’t help but wonder: was my true motivation to jump really to save you just so that you could keep saving me? Isn’t that the purest form of selfishness there can be? After everything you had done for me and my broken heart, was buried deep under it a core as dark as Moriarty’s? Was that it? You must live so that I can too? Am I a monster, John, one determined to use you for my own selfish desires? That is a thought that hunted me and it still does, even now. So, _what does this mean to me…?_ I fear it, that question”. Sherlock felt ready to shutter as he had never opened his heart to anyone like that before. But he held onto the truth and kept going because he had to tell John.

John tried to protest, but Sherlock shook his head weakly, stilling John’s voice. He felt like passing out but forced himself to remain conscious. His eyes became aware again and narrowed on John’s face. There was intensity to those brilliant, mesmerizing eyes that John had never seen before, and he felt pinned to the floor in this moment in time.

“While I may never know the answer to that question anytime soon, there is one thing I know for certain with perfect clarity. You are in every part of me, every corner of my reality, my mind and my heart. My very cells are built around you. I want to see you smile, hear you laugh, know that you are content and please with your life. I regretted causing you such hurt and pain, so much so it drove me to near distraction. So many times during these last two years I wanted to reach out and take away your sorrow. I have the potential to be a monster, like Moriarty, but there is one thing in this world keeping me from reaching that full potential – and it’s you, John Watson. Yes, it was hard for me do what I did. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I want you to be happy and I know that you’ll never be happy with me. So I had to push you away… into her arms”.

Sherlock had finished and now he felt like passing out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear John’s reaction. He bit his lip and watched the older man as his words circled inside his mind. John just stood there without talking. Sherlock Holmes, the bloody sociopath, his best friend and the love of his life had given him a confession worthy of a priest. Sherlock was a man who pulled off miracles like an average man made a cup of tea. John couldn’t believe that this unbelievable man had just confessed needing him, ordinary John! It was almost laughable. Those words were the most important words he had ever heard. A small part of him was afraid he might be having a heart attack and then he realized that he had to say something too but when he opened his mouth, no words escaped his lips.

“Oh God, Sherlock” was all he managed to say. He realized after his friend’s speech that sounded horrible but it didn’t matter anymore because John’s lips had found Sherlock’s and now they were kissing and John felt like he was in heaven and he didn’t care about anything else in the world except Sherlock. John broke the kiss and looked at Sherlock’s eyes. He had to say something too. He needed to let Sherlock know how much he loved him too.

“I need you too” he whispered brokenly. He was terrified but he couldn’t make himself stop. “If you wanted me to run away, you never should’ve let me fall in love with you. You make me feel alive, whole. You make me feel something I’ve never felt before. I don’t know what it is but I need you to know I feel it with you. Having you in my world gives me hope, purpose. I was nothing before you, I am nothing without you. I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you.” and then they were kissing again.

Sherlock pressed himself to John’s more muscular body and John wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock. They had to be close to one another, they needed to feel each other’s bodies. John’s pulse was racing. He knew Sherlock could feel it as he could feel Sherlock’s too. Now John had two choices, two paths and he was terrified. He never thought he would have the chance to make this choice so he had never thought about the consequences of choosing. But now he didn’t know what to do. He needed Sherlock to help him, to guide him. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell him about Mary’s pregnancy yet. He knew it was wrong of him. Sherlock had opened up his heart for him so he had to be honest too, but this moment was far too perfect to ruin it.

He couldn’t describe what he was feeling. It was a roaring beast in his ears, that nameless emotion. It was need, basic and primal. He had the experience to know it was attraction, desire but to a whole new level he had never felt before. And it came only in response to the man before him. It was more than desire, too. It was _love._ Love beyond what one felt for a friend or even a partner. Love beyond what one should feel for another human being. It was love so strong that it felt like he was being remade, like a river bed beneath flood waters. Their tongues played and danced slowly, carefully and John sucked gently at Sherlock’s lower lip making the younger man whimper in need. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. He knew that what path took now rested in Sherlock’s hands. What their future was going to be. He was in control now and John trusted him wholeheartedly.

They broke the kiss when the need to breathe air was too strong to ignore. John looked at Sherlock again. His white skin was red, his full lips swollen and his dark hair too messed up that could only look good on him! His silver-blue eyes were wide open and his pupils wildly dilated. He looked like a fallen angel. John’s angel. The doctor smiled at him and then remembered why he was there in the first place so he shook his head and pointed at Sherlock’s black eye.    

“Did he do that to you because of what we did?” he asked again.

Sherlock sighed and averted his eyes.

“Look John, you don’t know what I was. You don’t know what I’ve done and what has been done to me”.

John placed both hands on either side of Sherlock’s face and forced him to look at him.

“I don’t care who you were, Sherlock” he said passionately. “I want to know but I don’t care. I only care of who you are now and that, my angel, I know very well”.

Sherlock was startled at how John had called him. He was even more startled at how much he seemed to like it. He must have shown his content on his face because John just smiled happily and kissed him again. He saw the beautiful, fragile man Sherlock was and despite everything he’d been through, he still believed in him.

“John, I’m hardly an angel” he winced at how bitter he had sounded. “You only say that because you don’t know…”

“I don’t know your past, you’re right” John interrupted him. “It doesn’t matter to me” he assured the slender man.

“You don’t know the things I’ve done” Sherlock all but sobbed and buried his face in the crook of John’s neck. John wrapped his arms around him protectively and rubbed shooting circles on his back.

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready” he said simply. He saw only purity and innocence in Sherlock. And Sherlock really did have the loveliest eyes didn’t he? One could only admire the ivory skin, the inky black hair, those full lips and those absolutely ridiculous cheekbones. Now that he thought about it, Sherlock Holmes looked simply delicious. “I can tell you’ve been through hell and back but listen to me please. Despite all that… you’re still an innocent” John said his voice going softer. That did the trick and Sherlock let himself free and began sobbing on John’s neck.

“It wasn’t your fault” he sobbed. “It’s what he does. It’s what he’s always done in the past, this is who he is, who I am. John, I can’t be in a relationship with you, I don’t know how. I’ve never been to one, all I know how to work with is pain” the young man was now hyperventilating.

“No, no, no, please don’t do that. Please don’t cry, every tear of yours is like poison in my heart. Calm down; don’t panic, not with me. You have no reason to be scared, we’ll take it slow. We’ll do whatever you want, nothing that will make you uncomfortable. I love you. I’ll show you how to be in a healthy relationship. I promise, love I’ll show you how you deserve to be loved” John soothed him and Sherlock calm down a bit.

They stayed like that, John cradling Sherlock while holding him close to his chest. John stroked Sherlock’s curls and the man relaxed even further in his arms. The doctor swallowed his anger and thanked the God that he had good self control. Of course he had understood what was happening and had a very good guess at what was happening back at Sherlock’s university. He had heard about abusive relationships before but he didn’t dare to imagine the horrors Sherlock had been through. They would talk about it once Sherlock felt comfortable to share it with him. For now John continued rocking him back and forth until Sherlock’s breath evened out and he gently placed him back to the couch.

“Sleep, my angel. I’ll be here when you wake up” he promised mostly to himself and kissed the detective’s head.

 

 ***

 

 

Mary sighed and walked to the living room to watch from the window, waiting her husband to come home. John had sounded cheerful when he had left but his expression was dark. It was one of fear and anger and she knew something had happened. She didn’t want to have a fight with him that’s why she hadn’t questioned him further. She had seen John’s determined expression and she guessed that something had happened with Sherlock. Of course, John would always run to Sherlock. That was not acceptable. She placed a hand on her stomach and clenched her fist. She wouldn’t let the detective come between them and destroy their family. Mary had always wanted a family and now she had the chance to finally have one with John and she would do anything to ensure it would happen.

She got up from the armchair and fetched her phone from the pocket of her trouser. She started pacing the living room and called someone, her nerves taut. She waited patiently until someone picked up.

“Hello?” the deep voice sounded.

“What’s happened?” Mary all but growled.

“Calm yourself, luv. It’s nothing I can’t handle” the man said cheerfully.

“You absolute moron! What have you done to him?” she screamed. “You must have done something idiotic and John has gone to him again. Do you even know where he is? That was not part of our deal”.

“Hey, I’m doing everything I can” the man protested.

“Well apparently it’s not enough. You’re going to ruin everything if you’re not careful” she gritted her teeth.

“Oh, shut up” the other grumped. “I know what to do” he insisted.

“Listen to me very carefully, you useless piece of a man. You keep Sherlock far away from John. Stop torturing him and start being nice to him. You make sure he _wants_ to stay with you and he doesn’t need my husband. If you’re so useless and you can’t make him be afraid of you, then make him fall in love with you like you did in the past. Make sure he stays with you”.

“And how do I do that?” he asked.

“I don’t give a damn how. I brought you here for a reason. Do not make me regret keeping you alive, have I made myself clear?”

There was silence on the other side.

“Yes” the man sounded a bit frightened.

“Good. Make sure I don’t have to call you again”.      

With that, she hung up. Mary smiled and stretched. She had chosen the perfect time to tell John about her pregnancy. With a little lack, good honest John would tell Sherlock the good news and the – hopefully – vulnerable detective would go back to Garth Walker. This stupid man wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He would follow her advice and treat Sherlock well, give him what he needed and he would no longer think about John. The doctor would no doubt be inconsolable and who was going to offer him a hug? His dearest, pregnant wife of course and then they would be a family. John would soon forget about Sherlock and the feelings he had started to have for his friend. He was just confused, John was not gay. Mary was doing him a favor, keeping them together. Of course John’s future was with his wife and child.

“Everything must go according to plan” she whispered and rubbed her belly. “Don’t worry, love. Papa will be home soon” she smiled again and waited for John to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again sorry for the mistakes, please forgive me. Comment if you wish, your opinions are always welcomed. Don't hate. Next chapter will be about Sherlock and John progressing into their relationship and John with Greg will convince Sherlock to talk to his brother. But there's still a lot of angst. Garth is still lurking in the shadows and let's not forget about Mary. So be prepared, this story is not finished yet and there are a lot of things our boys need to deat with.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yey, another chapter! So a lot of cuddling and fluff but in the next next chapter there will be angst! Comments are always welcomed. As always, enjoy! :)

John stood by the couch watching the young man sleeping. He watched his sweet, sleeping face, so much younger-looking when it was relaxed. He looked quite peaceful. Gone was the guarded expression he usually wore and now he looked like a child. The doctor kept thinking about what had happened the previous minutes and he couldn’t help the want to laugh and cry at the same time. He was unbelievably happy Sherlock had opened up to him and they now were in a relationship – they were, weren’t they? – but he also wanted to cry and smash everything considering what Sherlock must have been through. He could only imagine what may have happened to a teenage Sherlock and he felt anger overwhelming him.

He remembered Mycroft’s words again. He had told him directly that Sherlock had been hurt in the past but he had refused to give him any details. Now that he thought about it, he was glad. It was Sherlock’s story and John wanted to hear everything from the man himself when he felt ready and he was honestly grateful that Mycroft had been discreet and had kept his brother’s secrets but still he couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated not knowing what he was dealing with.

Lestrade slowly emerged from his bedroom and approached them carefully. He eyed the sleeping detective and looked at John who was absentmindedly brushing Sherlock’s curls from his eyes with his fingers. They didn’t speak. They just stood there watching the sleeping man until John turned his head and asked quietly but fiercely nonetheless.

“Did you know?”

“So I take it he told you” Lestrade said gently.

“So you did know” John sounded shocked.

“No, Jesus, no, I didn’t know. Well I was suspecting something but I didn’t know for sure. I asked him but he dismissed me. This morning he showed up here half conscious and told me everything. And then I called you” Greg locked eyes with him. “Are you two…?”

“Together?” John finished for him and waited ‘til the other man nodded. “I think so. I’m not entirely sure. I mean we confessed our love for each other and then I’ve probably had the best kiss of my life but… it’s complicated” he said truthfully and returned his eyes to Sherlock.

“Ah. Mary?” Greg asked.

John’s eyebrows shot up. Mary. God, he had totally forgotten her! She must have been waiting for him. He had promised he’d be back for lunch after all but right now he couldn’t even think about leaving Sherlock.

“Greg, will you stay with him in case he wakes up? I’ve got to call her”.

“Of course I will” Lestrade nodded. “John maybe you should go home, I’ll stay with him”.

“No” John said immediately. He felt sick at the thought of being away from Sherlock now.

Greg raised his hands in surrender and took John’s place by the couch when the shorter man got up and went to the kitchen so that he would be able to talk to Mary without disturbing Sherlock. He caught his mobile from the pocket of his jeans and phoned his wife. He felt a bit guilty while he waited for her to pick up. He was once again neglecting his pregnant wife. Was he a horrible person for putting his love before his wife and unborn kid?

“John?” Mary sounded agitated.

“Mary” he winced. He couldn’t even call her love, or sweetheart or something. Anything. Just a cold Mary…

“John, where are you? I’ve been waiting for you”.

“Yes, sorry, I know” he paused. He didn’t know what to say to her. “Listen, Mary, I… I’m not gonna…” he chose his next words carefully. “I’ll be late” he concluded.

“Late” she repeated. “So, when are you going to be back?”

“I don’t know” he sighed in defeat.

“John” there was a pause. He could practically feel her vibrating in anger. She was right, he knew it but he couldn’t help the overwhelming need to stay near Sherlock no matter what.

“Mary I’m…”

“No, listen” she said sharply. “Do whatever it is you need to do and when you get back here, we’re going to have a very serious conversation”.

“Okay” he replied and she hung up.

He dreaded this moment but he knew it would be the perfect opportunity to tell Mary the truth. He felt terrible. The woman had told him she was pregnant, only a couple of days ago and now he was going to ask her for a divorce. But it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t in love with her anymore; there was no doubt about that. And there were a lot of children who grew up with divorced parents, it was no big deal. He hadn’t told Sherlock yet, about Mary’s pregnancy. Now wasn’t the right time. He would wait until they were stable and Sherlock was more confident with their relationship and then he would tell him. Everything was going to be okay.

“John” he heard Lestrade.

“What?” he turned around and eyed the detective inspector.

“He woke up, you better go to him”.

John nodded and turned to go back to the living room but paused. He looked at the older man and gave him an incredibly grateful look.

“Thank you” he said. “For calling me and for taking care of him”.

Lestrade shook his head.

“Don’t thank me, mate” he said. “I’ve been taking care of him ever since he was nineteen” he looked at the floor. “He almost died in my arms, you know” he said and shivered.

John swallowed and couched.

“Yes, about that… I just feel like I have to thank you. If you hadn’t saved him back then, I wouldn’t have him right now” the army doctor blinked away the tears.

“Well it’s no use now. Don’t think like that” Greg tried to cheer him up a bit. “You’re together now and you’re going to be fine. Both of you. John, do me a favor. Can you convince him talk to Myc?”

“Myc? Mycroft?” he sounded genuinely surprised and amused.

“Yeah, I mean Mycroft” Greg was blushing furiously.      

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Well, try to, anyway” John laughed. “He talked to me too. I think he gave me his blessing. Are you two going to marry or something?”

Lestrade’s eyes widened.

“I think you should go back to Sherlock now” he babbled and John laughed harder but left the kitchen obediently.

He approached the couch where Sherlock was now in a sitting position. He looked up when he heard the steps and gestured John to sit down next to him, which he immediately did. Sherlock curled to John’s right side and rested his head on his good shoulder nuzzling a little. John couldn’t help but laugh happily.

“Hello, angel” he greeted and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“For a second I thought I had dreamt about all that” he whispered and motioned them both. John put his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him closer to him.

“Well you didn’t. I’m here and I still love you. Always” he said with a determine voice.

“Me too” the detective sighed in contentment.

“Love, will you do me a favor?” John asked.

“What?” Sherlock lifted his head from John’s shoulder, the other already missing the contact.

“I was talking with Greg and… well. We think you should talk to Mycroft. Let him take care of Garth”.

Sherlock lowered his head in shame.

“I can’t” he said.

“Sherlock I know you might feel…” John began saying but was interrupted by Sherlock.

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just can’t” he admitted. “He would be disappointed and probably mad. And he would be right, you know. If he asked me, which I’m sure he will do, I wouldn’t know what to answer him”.

“Ask you about what?” John pressed gently.

“Why didn’t I ask for help earlier” he murmured.

John remained silent for a few seconds.

“Sherlock, why didn’t you ask for help earlier?” he simply repeated the question.

“I think I should begin the story from the start” John just nodded and tucked Sherlock’s head back to his chest. “When I was sixteen, I was pretty much a happy teenager. I actually did have some friends, no matter what you may thing, back at my university. But I’ve never been to a relationship and I didn’t want to. I was happy just the way things were. Several girls tried to attract my attention but none of them intrigued me. So I remained single and I was perfectly fine with that. One of my friends, [Matthew](https://twitter.com/Matt_Morrison) was gay and he had a boyfriend, Jake, who’s best friend was also gay and single. So at his sixteenth’s birthday, he wanted to have a beach party. There he finally introduced us all to his boyfriend and his best friend, Garth” he stopped there.

“Go on” John prompted. “I won’t get mad, I promise” Sherlock still refused to speak. “Sherlock, you didn’t even know me then, it’s not like cheating on me or anything like that. Please go on”. The detective took a deep breath and continued reluctantly.

“The instant I laid my eyes on him, I suddenly knew why it never worked with anyone else. I suddenly realized why I never had a girlfriend. I wasn’t interested in girls, it was so obvious and yet I had failed to see it. But Garth on the other side… he just stood there watching me with his big eyes, so interested in me and his brilliant smile that was only meant for me. And then he shook my hand and it was like everyone else had suddenly disappeared and it was just the two of us. I knew it was love, it must have been because from the moment I met him, I couldn’t get him out of my head no matter how hard I tried” he could feel John stiffening. “John?” he asked scared.

“I’m okay, it’s fine. I’m good” he reassured. “Continue”.

“A week after the party, I found him outside of my flat, waiting for me. He told me that he had forced Jake to ask Mat about where I lived because he just _had_ to see me again. I felt delighted. Happier than I’ve ever felt until then. We went out for a drink and after that we would meet every day, going for coffee, drinks or just a walk. A couple of weeks after that we were together. The first time we had sex was the day of my seventeenth birthday. We were dating for almost six months. And John it was something I’d never felt before. I thought I was in love. No, I knew I was in love and I think he was in love with me too”.

He sighed sadly. John rubbed his back in soothing circles. It was unbelievably painful to hear Sherlock talking like that about another man but like he said they didn’t know each other back then so he couldn’t be mad at Sherlock. And of course he had no right to be jealous, he had other relationships too and yet he still felt quite jealous but let the man continue.

“It was perfect. Until…” he flattered.

“Until?” John prompted.  

“Until his parents died. He began drinking. A lot. He started being more… aggressive and violent. He would take it out on me on a regular basis. But I was so much in love with him that I didn’t even mind. I could take some bruises or some hard sex. At some point he had managed to convince me that I even liked it. But then it wasn’t enough for him” he stopped to take a deep breath. “I remember the first time he came back to my flat high. He… uhm… I don’t really remember because I tried deleting it from my mind… I’m not… I didn’t… but I remember saying no…”

John shuddered. He feared the reply to his question but he had to ask. He had to know.

“Did he force himself on you?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t know” Sherlock replied honestly and buried his face on John’s chest. “I’m not sure, I was so confused. Garth had never been like that but I did say no. But the next day he somehow managed to convince me that I gave my permission sometime later but… I don’t think that’s what happened. He would come back high very often” now Sherlock was trembling and John tightened his arms around him. “Until one day he let me or I should rather say he made me try some myself”.

John turned pale. Now he knew how Sherlock had started doing drugs but that didn’t make him feel better at all. He would prefer it if it was Sherlock just experimenting. Being curious or wanting to relax his mind. It would still be bad but at least that way it would have been his choice, not someone else’s.

“I never told anyone. Not even Mycroft. I know what you’re gonna say John and you’re right. But it’s not just that I was afraid of him. I was afraid of what he might have done. He said that if I ever left him, he would kill himself and, John, I loved him. I really did, he was the first one I ever loved. I know it was an abusive relationship. He hit me and drugged me and we should probably add emotional manipulation to the list but still… I just couldn’t let him go”.

“I understand” John whispered holding back his own tears. He had promised himself he wouldn’t cry again today but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t get enough of his exquisite beauty, and the thought that he was his now,shook him to the core. The mere idea that someone could have misused and abused such a precious creature was _infuriating_. What fool… what _monster_ … could have violated and thrown away such a treasure?

He carefully leaned in and captured Sherlock’s lips with his own, for the sweetest kiss they’d ever known. They were gentle, tender kisses this time, lightly stroking their tongues together, softly sliding their lips against each other as John finally let the realization sink in for real. _I love him. _And he loves me__ _._ He didn’t want to break the spell, so he tried to keep things slow and soft. Sherlock’s hands were wandering across John’s chest, and the doctor had both of his hands buried in his silky curls. John had never felt so lost in someone else – the rest of the world could fall away and he’d never notice, as long as he could stay right here, in Sherlock’s arms.

But he realized now that Sherlock was trembling, and gasping for breath. And… this was all so new, so sudden. These feelings that he have had for Sherlock weren’t _actually_ new, they’d been growing for some time. Still, until yesterday he hadn’t entirely confessed his feelings for Sherlock, and only about a few weeks ago he had believed himself to be heterosexual. You could safely call it a rather momentous experience. Maybe slowing things down a bit might not be the worst idea. He kissed Sherlock once more, then pulled away and leaned up on one elbow, stroking his long neck in small circles with his free hand. _Bloody hell_ , he was more than trembling… he was shaking like a leaf.

“Sherlock” John asked startled. Had he hurt him? How on earth had he hurt him? But Sherlock was gone… lost in his mind.

 

_That night Sherlock was just about to sleep when there was a knock on his door. He knew who it was and for the first time, he felt like not opening the door. He didn’t have the power to face him right now, he was exhausted but the knock on his door became insistent. The man wouldn’t go away and he would end up waking up the entire neighborhood. Sherlock sighed and went to open the door to his boyfriend._

_“Garth” he said once the smiling man had entered the house._

_“Hello, kitten” he hiccupped. “I’m in the mood for sex tonight” he said blatantly and laughed at Sherlock’s shocked expression. “Don’t look at me like that, darling. Strip and get on the bed for me. I think an orgasm would do you good too. Wouldn’t you like that? You know I can make you feel good – I know exactly how hard you like it” he smiled suggestively._

_Sherlock hesitated, then said very clearly:_

_“No, I don’t want to have sex when you’re high out of your mind”._

_“Nonsense” Garth growled and reached for him. “I’m perfectly fine. Come on”._

_Sherlock flinched away._

_“No” he said more firmly._

_It didn’t take long. The next thing Sherlock knew he was on the floor, the whole right side of his face on fire with pain. Garth had never hit him in the face so hard before. He never had a reason but whenever he did, he managed to never leave marks on him, but clearly now all limits were gone._ _Sherlock felt himself being hoisted into the air by the back of his T-shirt, and thrown towards the bed. He remained perfectly limp, allowed his body to lie where it fell without attempting to move. He knew from experience that the struggle would only make Garth more excited. The best way out was through, and perhaps if he were totally passive it would all be too boring and Garth wouldn’t be able to get it up. Perhaps._

_Sherlock kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as he felt Garth rip his trousers down. Garth was panting and growling under his breath. Would it be a rough sex day? Garth growled and hit his back hard. For the next half hour Sherlock lay completely still without resistance or response to Garth’s shouts or beating. He ignored the hitting and the scratches without a sound or twitch of protest. When his backside was a mass of blisters and angry red skin, Garth considered penetrating him. It would be over in fairly short order – after an extended beating Garth always came quickly._

_“You are so beautiful, Sherlock, so gorgeous and so entirely mine” he groaned._

_Without any warning or preparation he thrust all the way into Sherlock’s body, and he felt Sherlock jolt and groan beneath him. He was glad Sherlock was finally enjoying himself, but he did not really need commentary today. He pushed Sherlock’s face down into the sheets again, smothering his noises. Actually that angle was quite advantageous, next time he might tell Sherlock to get on elbows and knees from the start._

_“Stop” Sherlock screamed._

_Garth forced Sherlock’s head back down onto the bed._

_“Do you want me to hit you again? You can just ask for it, you know. There’s no need to be so hard to please, you know” he stopped when he felt his orgasm building up._

_The next thing Sherlock knew, Garth was coming hard inside him. He collapsed on top of him. Finally, Garth withdrew his flaccid cock from Sherlock’s abused hole, allowing his semen to drip down Sherlock’s thighs. “All right then, slug.” Garth said, with disgust. He then rolled over and fell asleep while Sherlock kept repeating to himself “ _My body is only transport for my mind. Nothing he can do to my body can kill my spirit”. But he knew it was not quite true for he could feel every part of himself dying every day.__

“Sherlock!” John’s panicked shout brought him back to reality.

Sherlock’s eyes opened abruptly and he looked at John who was looking really frightened and a bit relieved.

“There you are” he said smiling. “You were gone for a bit there”.

“Sorry” Sherlock said apologetically. “Just I remembered… yeah, I had definitely said no” he murmured and looked at John’s eyes.

“Don’t think about it anymore” the doctor pleaded. “It’s okay now, you’re safe” he wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock and let the detective rest his head on his good shoulder.

“I know” the younger man replied. “I just don’t understand. I’m afraid to go to my brother because he may try to kill Garth. John, I hate him with everything I have but… I still don’t want him dead and I hate myself for it” he whimpered.

“No, don’t hate yourself. It’s understandable. He was your first love, you were being abused for so long and you got used to it. You… what do you want, angel? Just tell me what you want”.

“I want you” Sherlock answered honestly. “And I want him gone. But I don’t want him dead. I just wanna be with you” and then he turned his head and said more timidly. “Can we be together?”

“Of course we can” John said immediately. He didn’t even need time to think about it.

“But you’re married. I can’t force you to leave your wife” Sherlock exclaimed.

 _Wait, until you hear about the baby,_ John thought bitterly and shuddered. He didn’t even want to think about it, now was not the right time to tell him. Sherlock was so pure and innocent despite all that and John feared that he would leave him if he knew he was going to be a father. He smiled inwardly. He was that good of a man, his detective. But he didn’t want Sherlock to feel guilty, he wouldn’t allow that. First he needed to sort things out with Mary and then he would talk to his beloved.

“I love you” he said slowly. “It wouldn’t be fair to Mary if I stayed with her, would it? Being with a man he wasn’t in love with her while she could find someone else. It’s better this way for both of us. And before you start feeling guilty, it’s not your fault, I was in love with you before I got married, I just hadn’t realized it” John finished and smiled. Sherlock was smiling too.

“Okay” he said and pressed his lips to John. It was a chaste kiss and John relished the feeling of the other man pressed to him.

“I love you” Sherlock said and John felt like crying. “You know Molly had told me that you loved me back when I faked my death. She had tried to convince me to stay with you but I couldn’t. She said it would break you. You know what I told her?”

John shook his head and let Sherlock continue.

“I told her that she was right. That I would probably never know what it’s like to lose the man you love so many times over, but I’d also never know what it feels like to have that man love me back. I’m so glad you proved me wrong”.

John was up on his feet tugging at Sherlock to follow him at Lestrade’s bedroom. The detective whined and complained but followed the doctor obediently. Once in the bedroom, John closed the door and laid on the bed and motioned Sherlock to lay down next to him. Sherlock joined him under the duvet, and moved a bit hesitantly into the doctor’s waiting arms. He deliberately twined their bodies together like they were on the sofa earlier, and John could feel Sherlock’s body relax against his own at that already-familiar intimacy. The detective once again pillowed his head on John’s good shoulder, and they laid quietly together, John stroking the back of Sherlock’s hand as it rests on the doctor’s chest.

“I hate the fact that I want to sleep all the time” Sherlock complained and John chuckled.

“You need rest. Your body is trying to heal”.

“I’m not sure I deserve you” Sherlock insisted sadly. “Can I tell you something but you must promise me you won’t get mad”.

John smiled reassuringly at Sherlock, just to be sure.

“I know it’s hard to let me love you and it takes a lot of courage, but let me say this, there is nothing you could say or do that would drive me away from you. If anything, I know exactly what I am committing myself to. I love everything about you – your mischievous smile, the low baritone sound of your voice, your piercing eyes, so hypnotic and mesmerizing, beautiful to gaze into, and yet never revealing anything to me. I love your gentle touch and the warmth I feel at your side. I love the way you enter a room, walking tall in your perfectly tailored suits, radiating self-confidence, absorbing everyone and everything and automatically attracting people’s attention. I also love you when you look about twelve; I love your arrogant and pompous behavior; I love your bad manners and bluntness; I love the times when boredom drives you mad and makes you edgy… I love all of you. I love your bad qualities because I also love your “better self” – your vulnerability, your insecurities, and your best civility. If I don’t love you at your worst, then I don’t deserve you at your best. That is as simple as it gets. You can depend on my love and friendship forever.”

“Okay” Sherlock seemed convinced. “I saw Garth after all these years when he came at my doorstep that night we were texting each other and I didn’t reply you and you got a bit mad. Do you remember? You were still at Italy” John nodded. “I think the reason I let Garth in was because when I saw him, I thought I might still have had some feelings for him. After everything he did to me… it’s sick”.

“No listen to me” John said carefully. “We tend to revisit old feelings for the same reason we re-read books — comfort in familiar words even though we know the endings. You were just a bit confused”. And then he asked cautiously. “Do you still…?”

“No!” Sherlock yelled. “I don’t love him anymore, not at all. I only love you. John, I’m not a masochist. And I’m definitely not a cheater, you never have to worry with me. Once I give my heart, it’s forever. I’ll never betray your love. I realized my mistake a few seconds after he was in our flat. I wanted him out immediately but it was too late… oh, the cleverness of me” he sighed. “I just realized how odd it is to be haunted by someone that is still alive.”

“He’ll never come anywhere near you” John said firmly. “I’ll make sure of it. And you have to talk to your brother” he pressed gently.

“I can try” the detective replied and John gave him a meaningful look. “Fine, I promise I’ll talk to him. But I need to do something first. I need to talk to Garth alone and…”

“Absolutely not!” John shouted angrily and tightened his grip.

“I have to” Sherlock insisted.

“No. At least, don’t go alone. You don’t have to face that monster alone. Let me come with you or take Greg” John begged him.

“John, I’m afraid that I have to face the monsters alone. Because the monsters I’m haunted by were never under my bed. They were always inside my head” the detective explained.

“But…”

“John, it will be just one time. It’s okay now, he won’t do anything because he’s lost. I’ve got you now and he has no power over me. He doesn’t control me anymore. John, I have to do this to find some peace. I need to clear things up with him a bit. And then I’ll talk to Mycroft. And we’ll stay together, right?” he asked hopeful.

John didn’t like that idea. There were a lot of things that could go wrong but he understood this was something Sherlock needed to do. In order to start a new chapter in his life, he had to stop re-reading the last one. He had to do this to bring peace to his mind. He sighed and pushed his worries in the back of his mind.

“Fine” he said finally. “You’ll go and talk to him and then straight to your brother. And then it’ll be over. And I’ll go and talk to Mary. And then we’ll leave together again” he smiled at the thought.

“Deal” Sherlock sighed happily and yawned. “Damn, I’m tired again”.

“Sleep, my angel” John kissed tenderly his head. “And once you’re better we will fix everything” he promised.

It was going to be okay because they were together now and nothing could stop them. Sherlock would kick Garth out of his life once and for all and the doctor would help him get over everything and heal. As for John, he would talk to Mary and they would get a divorce. He knew they would have to discuss about the child and it would be complicated but Mary was a good woman, she wouldn’t make his life difficult. He would tell Sherlock once they were better and maybe the detective would even love his kid a bit. They would be fine, everything was going to be alright now. John and Sherlock would be together and that’s what mattered. And John might have the man he loved so dearly and manage to be a good father, he could do that. And Mary was a reasonable woman, she would help. Little did he know that reality was far from his dreams…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter will not be very happy but it will be necessary for the continuation of the story. Also, we're getting close to the conversation between Sherlock and Mycroft, which I personally look forward to. I intend to make it fluff and I'm gonna try to use a lot of brotherly love because I love it ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Sorry for the delay but it's kinda long so I guess we're good. This chapter contains rape/non con, be prepared! Enjoy and comment if you like :)

Sherlock stood for a moment still and eyed the building in front of him. The only building he could ever call home. His home. And he hoped that one day soon enough it would be his and John’s home again. Of course John had promised that he would talk to Mary about them and it would all be okay but the detective was still worried. The woman was undoubtedly good and smart but still they were married. There was no saying what her reaction would be. Sherlock could understand very well a hurt person in love. He had been in love with John and he had watched him getting married and it was something he never wished to feel again. There were times he had wished Mary dead but he always felt guilty afterwards. After all, she had made John happy. She had given him what Sherlock thought he couldn’t. Would she really just give up on John to let him go back to him? Could it be really that easy?

The brunette sighed and shook his head. He had other things to worry about right now. He was standing in front of his home and he didn’t want to admit to himself that he was actually terrified to go in. He knew that he had to face Garth and talk to him and he wanted to do it alone, without John. There were things he needed to discuss with him and he would never find the courage to ask if John was with him. And he wanted to know. He needed to know after all these years. But was it really a good idea to come all alone? He knew he wanted to be alone with Garth but he couldn’t help but be afraid of what his reaction might be. Garth wasn’t a person to give up on something easily. And he considered Sherlock his propriety. Would he make a scene, Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder.

Taking a deep breath, he made up his mind. He had taken a decision and it was time to face the consequences. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Garth would be mad, he would yell at him, maybe he would hit him a bit and that was it. Of course Sherlock didn’t like the idea of being manhandled so soon since he wasn’t entirely healed from the last beating, but he would take it anytime if it meant that he was done with Garth. He had to be brave, nothing would stop him now. He would go in, talk to Garth and break up with him because he didn’t need him anymore. Then he would go back to Lestrade’s home and wait for John and then they’d be together and everything would be fine. He only hoped that Garth would still be in his flat.

He hurriedly unlocked the front door with his key and walked inside the building with a determined expression on his face. This was going to end tonight. He passed Mrs. Hudson’s door sighing in relief as he didn’t hear any noise and assumed the woman was not there. He chewed his lip nervously as he made his way upstairs to his flat ready to face his own demons.

The flat was quiet enough and dark. He looked around hoping to see a clue to indicate that Garth hadn’t left once and for all. But maybe that would be better. If the man was gone for good, he wouldn’t have to face him. But no, he had to have a conversation with him. He had to talk to him, he needed to tell him a few things and ask a couple of questions. He had kept them inside of him for so many years and now that he finally had a chance to say them aloud to the man who caused him such a great pain, he didn’t want to miss the opportunity. The lit cigarette on the ashtray and the half empty bottle of vodka on the floor told him that Garth was definitely in the flat. He turned around and jumped almost screaming as he saw the man sitting on John’s armchair and looking at him in the dark.

“You came back” he said simply, his voice rough. He sounded surprised.

“I had to” the brunette explained calm. “We need to talk”.

The other shrugged.

“Alright then. I'm listening.”

Sherlock took a deep breath, this was his chance.

“We’re done. This” he said gesturing between them, “is done. I want you out of this flat and out of my life”.

The man on the chair only laughed. It was a bitter laugh and Sherlock didn’t like at all the way Garth’s eyes glittered in amusement.

“Done? Are you suggesting a break up?” he asked carefully.

“Yes” the detective blurted out before he could even think.

“This is funny” Garth said and laughed again. “Enough with this nonsense, come on here, let’s just forget about that. I’ll pretend you never said it” he sounded a bit panicked now.

“No” the detective said firmly. “I don’t want you anymore. You mean nothing to me. I have…” he hesitated. Should he say it? “I have someone else”.

“That’s ridiculous” the blonde laughed but the anger was unmistakable in his voice. “Who else would ever have you? I’m all you’ve got” the words stung and Sherlock had to take a step back to reclaim his posture.

“Garth, it’s over. I want you to leave and never come back. I’m with someone else. You don’t know him but it doesn’t matter” he said.

“Bollocks” Garth was angry. And drunk. That was not good. “I want you. Now” it was an order if anything.

“No!” Sherlock said and took another step back. “I don't want anything to do with you. You are nothing. Listen to me!”

“No need to” Garth was on his feet and in front of the younger man and before the detective realized what was happening, the blonde was kissing him. “I’ve missed you”.

“Stop” he managed to say and pushed the other away. He studied him for a few seconds. He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot and he could smell the alcohol in his breath. Yeah, he was definitely drunk which was a very bad thing.

“C’m on, kitten, I know you’ve missed me too” he hiccupped and threw himself on Sherlock again.

“No! I said stop. I don't want you to do this.” Sherlock pushed Garth away from him but the other was much stronger and Sherlock was still pretty weak after the last beating.

The brunette screamed when he felt his coat being removed from his body and the other man began tugging at the shirt Lestrade had lent him. Garth growled when he saw that Sherlock was fighting him and he literally ripped the shirt in two pieces and threw it on the floor. He then started sucking on the detective’s milky white skin where new bruises began to from. He was so lost that he barely registered the screaming or the young man’s fists hitting his chest, bashing him with a vain attempt at being aggressive.

“Please… Please Garth, don’t do that! Anything but that” the detective was now openly crying as the older man pushed him down to the floor and stripped him until he was completely naked underneath him.

“You are perfect, Sherlock,” Garth drawled. “Do you know that? My perfect toy. Mine” the drunken man growled in a possessive way, and then bit down deeply into the detective’s neck causing the other to scream in pain. He could feel Sherlock shaking, sobbing, pleading to go away, asking him to stop, panting, screaming, groaning and moaning and it turned him on. The pain that he could inflict upon the other made him hard in no time.

“Please Garth, you don’t want to do this” the detective tried to reason but the other didn’t even hear him.

“Is all this about this stupid doctor?” he asked as he took off his own clothing. “That John fellow? Don’t be ridiculous, Sher, he doesn’t even like you, I’m sure”.

“No, stop! You don’t know anything” Sherlock screamed.

“Stop it now. What, he made you think that you are somehow together? Could you be more naïve?” he said and forcefully spread Sherlock’s legs and lined himself up.

“He loves me, unlike you” Sherlock punched him hard in the face and the other moaned in pain and tasted blood. He would be ashamed by the fact that it turned him on even more but of course he didn’t care.

“Don’t make me laugh, you’re mine” Garth groaned and pushed in without another thought and without any preparation or lube. He listened as the detective screamed and then whimpered in discomfort. Garth began to move his hips experimentally and then began to fuck the tight hole, listening to the beautiful sounds of pain that spilled from Sherlock’s mouth. He soon began to thrust faster and he pressed his face to Sherlock’s and growled as he hungrily bit his lip and pulled until he tasted the other’s blood.

“Stop, Garth, I beg of you!” Sherlock was still resisting him.

“Mine. All mine” Garth kept saying as he fucked the detective and then the brunette was screaming again but no one was there to listen. It was utterly, deliciously amazing and he began to pound his hips to meet Sherlock’s own. He leaned over, feeling his hot sweaty body press to his detective’s. He stared down into those pale blue, teary eyes and began thrusting harder and harder.

He groaned out and raked his fingers against the cold floor, before finally he came to rest one on a boney hip, clutching the dangerously protruding bone. He leaned down and bit once more over the spot he had previously left a mark on that beautiful neck of his, he sunk his canines into the skin until he tasted blood and then he licked it – he couldn’t help himself purring in satisfaction. He loved marking his darling boy and he just tasted so delicious… it was like a candy to him.

He gripped the thick ebony curls that adorned his beautiful detective’s head and dug his fingers in, yanking Sherlock’s head back. Biting and leaving marks wasn't necessary, but Garth couldn’t help but feel such domination and such possession. He wanted Sherlock to know who he really belonged to. Who he would always belong to. He grabbed the detective’s delicate fists, wrenched them open and kissed and bit the palms, then gripped the wrists and held them down as he shoved in between those luscious, white thighs once more, just absolutely destroying what he wanted to claim as his. The brunette was now laying still underneath him, having finally accepted his fate, his body trembling with the assault and his sobs. His surrender only made Garth to feel the pressure building up in his stomach. He felt the moans beginning to spill from his throat so he gripped those frail wrists harder and began to move faster than he thought his nearly forty year old body could do.

He bent back over Sherlock’s limp body and began to moan loudly.

“You don’t have to make up ridiculous stories about John. I know John has never had you – did you think I wouldn’t know? Please Sherlock, all that time spent with morons is affecting your brain.” he felt his orgasm approaching. He shoved deep into Sherlock a few more times, rocking both their bodies in time with Sherlock’s moans of “No, no, please no…” Sherlock’s body was tight around him, silky smooth and blood-hot and altogether delicious. Sherlock’s moans had disintegrated into wordless sobs and the trembling of his body was sending delightful thrills along Garth’s cock. He gave a few more deep strokes, then held still and let the orgasm wash through his whole body until he was warm and glowing. But it still wasn’t enough. He wanted to make sure Sherlock belonged to him completely.

Without another thought, his hand wrapped around the detective’s slim cock and began stroking him fast and hard. Sherlock felt sick to his stomach and he screamed himself hoarse as he tried to get away. The blonde smiled as Sherlock began to respond, just as he knew he would, to his strokes. Despite his pleas to the contrary, Garth knew exactly how to work Sherlock, to make him bend his body to his will. Garth was in control, and he loved it. He chuckled as he kept pumping, delighting in the beautiful pale shaft that leaked all over his fingers. Faster and faster he worked them, until the brunette was screaming and squirming, his limbs spasming out of control.

“Please,” he whispered, squirming in shame. “Don't. No! NO! AH! Ahhh... oh no... please… don’t make me… oh god... I can't..."

“What I want Sherlock, I would have thought, would have been obvious to anyone, especially to you.”

Sherlock bucked into Garth's hand. “Stop it!”

Once again Garth ignored him.

“What I want is YOU, my love. You're _all_ I want.”

“Not you...” Sherlock whimpered. “I want... John...”

Garth tightened his hold and quickened his strokes, sliding the skin of Sherlock's long but slender cock up and down with one hand, changing his grip, fist to backhand, causing Sherlock to thrust harder into his hand. Sherlock could feel his orgasm building, also knew he didn't want it but he could do nothing to control his body. He _was_ a slut.

Sherlock gasped, moaning and writhing in the other man's grip. _'I don't want this.'_ He reminded himself internally. He whimpered brokenly.

And then he was coming, painfully and against his will. Garth felt Sherlock release all over his fingers, and spasm out of control against Garth’s own body. The blonde kept pumping him until he had milked Sherlock of every last drop and he prided in himself to bring his mate to such a lovely state of bliss. He found himself hard once more, but quickly rode through it and with a few thrusts, he was orgasming inside of his detective once more with a scream, before he collapsed on top of the hot, trembling, pale body beneath him. He went out like a light in a matter of seconds.

Sherlock just stood there underneath Garth, unmoving. He was in shock. He was still trying to understand what had just happened. Once his mind began working again, he realized that not only he had let Garth have sex with him again, he had also had an orgasm. He saw his own sperm still covering Garth’s fingers and he felt so much hatred towards himself that was unbearable. He had betrayed John, he had failed everyone. He really was a slut, he enjoyed what had happened to him, the evidence was right in front of him. He felt sick and disgusted.

 _‘Garth took what he wanted from you and you let him, like you’ve always done.’_ A voice inside Sherlock screamed. _'It's happening again. You let it happen again. You are pathetic. No wonder John doesn't want you. How could he ever want someone like you?'_

 

 

 

After a couple of hours, couldn’t be more than four or six at the most, it was dark outside, Garth blinked heavily, feeling the hazy cloud of grey around him fading, until finally he could see correctly. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking as his body felt rigid and then he understood where he was. He was still at Sherlock’s flat with his detective back to him. He must have returned and they have obviously had some good sex and now were lying together, so everything was great again.

Sighing, Garth curled his arm around Sherlock and allowed himself to move a limp Sherlock to the floor with him so that they were seated on their sides with Garth curled up against Sherlock from behind. Sherlock quickly wriggled away enough to turn over onto his back. Garth was surprised to see that Sherlock’s face was flushed and stained with tears. He then noticed the blood oozing from him. _What the hell?_

He gasped and threw himself backwards, startling the lovely man under him. With a cry of pain, Sherlock began to sob again, tears rolling down his face, and Garth looked desperately for anything that he might've done to hurt him. He hadn’t wanted this to happen. He hadn’t planned anything like that. What the hell had happened? He was soon brought back to reality as the beautiful man began to squirm, wrestle himself from his grip. Garth hadn't even realized he was holding onto the younger man, and let go of his wrists quickly, watching him pull them away. They were stained purple with bruises already showing on the transparent skin. Garth swallowed thickly and tried to scoot away from the naked detective trying to remember what the hell had happened. He tried to help Sherlock up but as soon as he touched him, the man scream in pain and he could only try to shush him.

“Jesus, Sher… _what the hell?_ ” he asked almost scared.

Taking a moment, he studied the shocked man. They were both shocked, frozen, and all they both could do was stare at one another and soon the memories began to flood Garth’s mind and he growled lifting his shaking hands and covered his face. He hadn’t meant to do that. He was supposed to be good to him, make him love him. Now he had ruined everything and _she_ was going to kill him for sure. What was more surprisingly though was that he actually felt bad for hurting Sherlock that way. He had loved him once and now he felt guilty.

“I’m… I’m sorry” he mumbled.

“Why?” Sherlock whispered as he curled to himself. He would have been surprised as Garth had never apologized to him before, but his body and mind were still in shock and he couldn’t comprehend much.

“I… I don’t know” he whispered back. “I didn’t mean to” it was a poor excuse but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You… you made… you forced me” he couldn’t finish the sentence as he turned over and threw up. After that they remained silent.

“Why did you come back?” Garth asked finally.

“I wanted to talk” Sherlock whispered.

“Then talk”.

“Now?” Sherlock looked at him surprised.

“Why not? I don’t think you’ll ever find the chance again” Garth shrugged.

They stayed like that. The whole scene was so familiar to Sherlock that he felt sick again as if he realized for the first time the abuse he had been enduring. As if he realized for the first time what a monster Garth really was and he screwed his eyes tight silently willing himself not to cry again.

“I just wanted to know why” he said finally. “All these years you’ve been… using me like that. Why?”

Garth sighed and looked away. He silently grabbed Sherlock’s long coat and gave it to him. The young man took it and carefully wrapped it around his battered body. He felt like dying again.

“It wasn’t always like that, was it?” Garth surprised him by actually talking. “I did love you Sherlock. You’re possibly the only person I've ever loved”.

“You’ve got a rubbish way showing it” Sherlock replied.

“Probably” Garth agreed as he pulled his own clothes. “When we first started dating, I loved you more than anything”.

Sherlock felt tears in his eyes.

“I loved you too” he whispered again.

“I know you did, I never doubted it. And that was the problem. I knew you loved me so much that you would do anything for me, so I took advantage of you. After my parents' death, I lost myself. I was all alone and I suddenly didn’t know anything at all. All I could feel was pain and I wanted you to feel it too. I know it wasn’t fair but it was just the way I thought. I found pleasure in pain and that was it” he admitted.

“You could have left me” Sherlock said. “It would have hurt me but…”

“I know” Garth interrupted him. “But that was the problem. As much as I kept telling myself that I was better off alone and that I hated everybody, I couldn’t let you go. I just couldn’t. So I had to drug you with me”.

Sherlock sighed.

“That’s no excuse for what you did to me. You used me, you abused my mind and body. You got me addicted… you… you bloody prostituted me to your friends. And for what? So that I could feel your pain?” tears were now falling down to Sherlock’s cheeks and he didn’t make any move to wipe them.  

“You know I used to make lists in my head about what I wanted in a lover, like blonde hair and a sweet voice. A sharp mind and a soft heart, a sense of humor that actually makes you laugh like I mean it. This and that”.

“I don’t sound like that at all” Sherlock murmured.

“Exactly. Because it’s all bullshit. Because people aren’t lists. And I’ve always wanted to be the person who made someone realize that. I wanted to come across someone with a list in their head that is nothing like the person I am, and I wanted to show them what they didn’t even know they were looking for. People who think they know what they want are fooling themselves. Nobody really knows what they want.  Not until it’s right in front of them. That’s what you were for me”.

Sherlock shook his head. He wasn’t going to forgive him so easily after everything he’d done to him.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” he asked him.

“I know” Garth lowered his head.

“You know, I never liked drugs, I didn’t. I saw the emptiness in the ‘users’ eyes and the way the life just drained from their body, but oh god, did you make them look so good. You made everything look worth using; and I would have gladly killed myself for you. But you left. You left and I was so sorry I didn’t run through your veins like they did. I couldn’t make you feel as good as they did, and I felt sorry. And I wanted you to know that you made me feel higher than any pill or powder could. But then you were gone and I was just trying everything I could get my hands on just to try to understand you. I thought maybe they’d make me feel as careless as you were, but several attempts in, and I still cared like no other. All these brain cells have been killed, but you still ran through every part of my head. You still floated up there, oh god, you still do sometimes. I don’t think any drug will erase these painful memories of you, but I wish they would. I don’t know whether it’s the drugs or the heart break of missing you, but I felt so lifeless back then. I was so lifeless and I wanted you to come back and remind me why I went all those years sober. But I think the worst part of this all was how after all this, after all this pain and scarring, I still wanted to go to you and tell you of these experiences. It made me feel as if you might love me more for some reason, but I know you didn’t, you wouldn’t. You were gone. You were gone and these drugs never even made me understand why you did what you did” he finished and took a deep breath.

“We all get addicted to something that takes away the pain” he murmured “I’m glad you never understood” Garth said. “No, listen, I am glad. No one should ever feel like I felt back then. I don’t know why I did all these things to you. And I don’t know why you let me”.

“Oh, that’s easy. I thought that this way you would love me as much as I loved you. I wanted you to be there and love me. You were the first person I ever loved. But I can’t say you were the only one. Because now I love someone else. I love him as much as I loved you, maybe even more. The difference is, he loves me too” he sighed again.

Garth actually smiled a bit.

“Are you happy then?”

“'Are you happy?' is such a difficult question. I always say yes, because I have my health and my family’s good and we’ve got money. My life isn’t as bad as it could be, and I don’t have terrible problems. It could be worse.  But then, one night at 3am when I’m alone, still awake, lying in bed, thinking about life I find myself crying my heart out. Suddenly I am convinced that nobody will ever like me. I feel horrible and I question everything I have.  And I don’t know if I was ever happy at all”.

“We were happy Sherlock. Somewhere along the way I screwed up but we were happy. I just couldn’t deal with it anymore. I couldn’t deal with you”.

Sherlock laughed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that “forever” implied “forever until you’re too fucking hard to deal with anymore” but I really wish I did know. I made myself from all the love you no longer wanted. It’s sad actually”.

“Sad?”

“I poured everything I had into you, and you were still empty” Sherlock said sadly.

Garth remained still, looking at the floor.

Sherlock looked into his eyes again.

“Do you know how many times I had wished you would come back?”

“Yeah well, you know what they say. When the Gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers” Garth actually laughed.

“Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it?”

They both stayed quiet after that just staring around the flat. Sherlock wanted to crawl to his bed and weep, waiting for his John to comfort him and he also wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. Here he was sitting with his rapist, having a conversation. As if they couldn’t have done that many years ago… it was both tragic and laughable at the same time.  

“It’s true that we fall in love with people we can’t have” Garth said quietly.

“I now know that’s not true. I’ve got the man I’m in love with” Sherlock said.

“Well, you were a lucky man. You deserve it after all”.

“Why did you come back?” now was Sherlock’s turn to ask.

“Don’t ask that, I’m afraid I can’t reply” Garth answered him.

“Can’t reply” the brunette repeated. “Don’t you think I deserve an explanation?”

“All I can say is that someone brought me back here. And they meant to hurt you… well maybe not indirectly but…” he stopped.

“Someone? Someone brought you here for me? To make me suffer?” Sherlock’s mind had already started running through the possibilities. He had many enemies, sure, but who could have known about Garth? It must be someone that wanted him suffer so desperately. But who? And why? And how on earth had they found Garth? His own brother made sure to make him “disappear” as he had put it.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” he said finally.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you” the brunette said quietly.

“That’s okay, I know, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean to cause you any harm. I don’t expect you to forgive me but I have to tell you that you must stay away from John Watson. Sherlock, you need to leave him or you’ll get more hurt than you can imagine. You have no idea what… they would do to you” Garth told him.

“They? Who are they? Garth, you must tell me. Is John in any danger?” Sherlock forgot immediately about his state and got to his feet. He didn’t care about anything in the prospect of John facing some danger.

“John… you… everyone. You don’t… you can’t… Sherlock please, you need to leave him. You don’t understand…”

“Then tell me” Sherlock interrupted him. “Explain to me so I can protect John and myself”.

Garth shook his head.

“I can’t” he said. “I don’t want to die”.

“Garth, you… please, I’m begging you. Tell me who are they?” Sherlock exclaimed. He was ready to beg if it would keep John safe.

“I’m sorry. I can’t” Garth really sounded sorry. “You should probably go now. I’m not supposed to let you go but I really don’t want to cause you any more harm. If you leave John, you have nothing to be afraid of”.

“Garth, if you ever cared about me, if you ever loved me, you need to tell me. If you want me to understand you, forgive you… anything, please, tell me. Who is it?” Sherlock stood in front of Garth. “Please” he said in the most pleading way he could master.  

Garth looked around the flat. He avoided Sherlock’s eyes at all costs.

“If I tell you, will you promise me that you will help me disappear?” Garth asked him. “If they get their hands on me…”

“I promise I’ll do my best” Sherlock said quickly. He didn’t really care about Garth at all. If anything, this situation was the best for him. He didn’t want Mycroft to kill Garth in the first place and now he would have a reason to support his wish. They would make sure Garth went far away and they would never see him again but then man wouldn’t have to die.

Garth was now looking at him. His eyes were fixed on Sherlock’s and he stood very close to the detective.

“I don’t know her name, she never told me. Abby was how I called her but I’m pretty sure it’s a fake one. What I know is that she’s a trained assassin who went rogue and changed her identity in order to hide from her past. I know that she is very intelligent, cunning and calculating, a tactical adept. She is also an excellent shot with small handguns, showing reflexes and perfect timing and she also has a photographic and extensive memory”.

Sherlock was trying hard to figure out who Garth was talking about. He was certain he had never met a woman like that. So skilled and smart and if he had, he would definitely remember her. And what did John have to do with everything anyway? Did that woman know John as well? Who could she be? Was John and Mary in danger? John… Mary… _Mary_! Could it possibly be… no, Mary was good, she would never do that! She had convinced John to talk to him again when he returned from the dead. It couldn’t be true, he was just paranoid. But if not her, then who? His skull was so full it was tearing him apart.

“Sherlock” the detective jumped back and looked at the man who has caused him more pain than anyone else. And yet once he looked deep into those eyes, he knew Garth was telling him the truth.

“Thank you” he said.

“Stay away from John. I wouldn’t want to see you dead or something worse” he said honestly.

“I can’t” he said. “I won’t. Once John asked me a few days before I left; 'Where would you be if we had never met?' I knew the point he was trying to make, that maybe I’d be better off having never met him. That maybe I’d be happier having never met him and having someone else. I think we were both starting to realize our feelings for each other. That day, I said nothing, I had nothing to say.  A few days later I just had to step back and watch him while he watched me walk away. While he watched me die. But if he asked me today, I wouldn’t hesitate before telling him, that if we had never met, I know exactly where I would be. I would be walking from corner to corner of this godforsaken earth, trying for the entirety of my life to find him” he shook his head in determination. “I can’t leave him”.

“But you may die” Garth looked at him surprised as Sherlock smiled.

“Some people are worth dying for” he said proudly. “ ** _Sine amore, nihil est vita_** ”. (Without love, life is pointless)

“You’re right” Garth shook his hand. “Fight for him, kitten. Fight for what you love and don’t give up. That’s what really matters in life. To find someone worth living for and then die for them. I wish I was half the man you are even after everything you’ve been through”.

“My past made me who I am. Even though I would change a lot of things if I could go back in time, but I am thankful. I am a fighter, a survivor. And I won’t give up on John, on us. Not now and not ever”.

Sherlock borrowed Garth’s clothes and wrapped the coat around him even tighter as he left the flat. Once Garth was far away, he would be able to go back with John. But for now he had something important to do. It was time to forget his stubbornness and his silly rivalries. Things were getting rather serious and if what he thought was true, John was in grave danger. For John’s sake, he would forget his pride and everything else. It was time to do what he should have done in the first time and finally ask for help from the only person who could and would help him. He had been a blind idiot but now he could finally see clearly. It was time to bring in the big guns. It was time to finally talk to Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me about Garth assaulting Sherlock, it's probably the last time he does it. And then to make things up, I had him help Sherlock out a bit! That does not mean you have to forgive him for everything he's done! Alright, next chapter will be about John telling to Mary about him and Sherlock. What's gonna be her reaction? Stay tuned to find out!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, new chapter and it contains angst! As I promised here's John's conversation with Mary and her reaction... In case someone is confused, this story takes place after season 3 episode 1,2. The wedding is done and they have returned from their honeymoon BUT episode 3 is slightly different here. Sherlock shot Magnussen for John and Mary but Mary DIDN'T shoot Sherlock. Just wanted to clarify it! enjoy and comment if you like ;)

John entered his house with his heart beating so fast that he was certain it was going to explode. He had waited a long time for this, he had wanted to break it off with Mary because quite honestly it just felt the right thing to do. But right now all he could feel was terror paralyzing his every muscle. Now things were more complicated. Mary wasn’t just his wife. She was pregnant and John couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty. She had done nothing bad to him and she was the most lovable woman John could have ever hoped for. She didn’t deserve this but the moment he had held Sherlock in his arms, he knew that he could never be with anyone else.

He was afraid. In fact he was terrified of Mary’s reaction. She was a nice woman but she was pregnant and her husband was now leaving her for his male best friend! For their best man. Honestly, John didn’t know how he would react if he were in her shoes. He paused for one second as he took off his jacket. Taking a deep breath he could smell roast beef, roast potatoes, vegetables and Yorkshire pudding. Sunday roast, one of Mary’s favorite foods. Could he really do that to her? He remembered Sherlock’s words from last night and his heart fluttered.

_“You were the one who saved me”_

That’s what Sherlock had told him. But the truth was that Sherlock had saved John too. John who was back from war, lost and without a purpose. He didn’t see anything worth living for and he just existed until he met the brilliant madman. After he met Sherlock, the world seemed less dark and suddenly life was less pointless. John needed Sherlock too, he had saved him back then and now he needed him to save him again.

Taking another deep breath, John went to the kitchen to find his wife bent over the oven. He carefully coughed loud enough so that she would hear him but she wouldn’t be startled. Mary turned around and smiled at him brightly and he felt all fizzy inside. Not in his wildest dreams could he have imagined how last night had turned out. He hadn’t at all planned to take it even remotely as far. He certainly hadn’t planned Sherlock to admit his feelings to him like that. He had gone to Lestrade’s place because the frantic detective inspector had called him to go and check Sherlock’s injuries because the man wouldn’t go to the hospital. John had been incredibly panicked to even think about how Sherlock might feel about the kiss. Or rather the kisses… but now that he thought about it, he couldn’t have planned it better, Sherlock’s every word still lingering in his mind and he couldn’t stop the smile forming on his lips.  

“You’re back” Mary said and went to hug him. He returned the hug but with no enthusiasm. She seemed to notice but didn’t make a move to extract herself from his grip and he didn’t push her away either.

“I’m back” he whispered. “Can you sit down for a second? I need to talk to you”.  

Mary’s face lost its glee and she sat at the chair watching his every move carefully. She frowned. It couldn’t be that… could it? No, Mary had been careful, she had made sure her doctor would remain far away from Sherlock. She was pregnant now and John was a good man and she had been a perfect wife. He wouldn’t do that now. He wouldn’t ruin a perfect future with a family for… _him_. But she forced herself to remain still and she listened to her husband as he sat down right next to her and took her hand into his.

“What’s wrong?” she asked a bit worried.

“Mary, I think you’ve noticed by now that things aren’t the same anymore. I mean, between you and me. It’s not your fault but I believe we’ve lost that sparkle. You know what I mean. I just…” he stopped. He had to take a deep breath. Mary followed suit.

“What do you mean?” she asked slowly as calmly as she could master.   

“I’m so sorry Mary, I just don’t feel the way I ought to” he explained.

“You mean you don’t love me anymore” she said.

“No, I do. I love you. I’ll always love you, you’re the mother of my child, that’s never gonna change. But I think you deserve someone better” he looked at her. “I think it would be best if we just took a divorce” he said quietly.

She didn’t sob, she managed to catch herself before the sound escaped her lips. She would not weep for John Watson. She had known his love for Sherlock to be strong, so strong it sometimes felt like living with a strange person in the house. He had once loved her, touched her, cared for her and enjoyed their life together, for that she had no doubt. But the moment Sherlock Holmes came back to life, John had changed. No, that was wrong: he hadn’t actually changed. In fact he had changed back to the person he was before Sherlock’s fall. As if the man she had met ten months ago had been a mere cipher of who John really was. And it bothered him. She was the one who picked up his pieces when Sherlock left him to break so he had no right to come back now and ruin her life.

Mary wasn’t a woman who cried easily. She felt a cold breeze along the surface of her heart. She let her love wash away to mix with her rage; holding it inside would make it useless, cripple her actions and her reflexes. She had the training to survive this; whether anyone else survived it was another matter. A matter that didn’t concern her at all. She wasn’t going to let her baby without a father just so John and Sherlock had fallen in love. So she didn’t cry. Instead she did the only thing she was capable at the moment. She started laughing. She laughed and laughed until tears formed in her eyes.

John stood there eyeing her in shock. He had expected her to get upset, of course he had. It would be normal, after all. Her husband was divorcing her a little after she had told him she was pregnant. He had expected her to cry, to yell at him, to be angry at him and he would deserve it. But Mary did none of these things. She was just laughing. In fact, she was laughing so hard that she seemed incapable of stopping and John didn’t know what to do. Was she in shock? Was that it? Should he snap her out of it? Just when he was ready to shake her a bit, she stopped laughing and wiped her eyes.

“Oh, John, that was very good, really” she said and couched a bit. “You asking me a divorce so that you can go and live your love with Sherlock… Oh my God! Hilarious” she gasped.

“Hang on there. I never said…” he tried to protest.

“Oh, please John. I’m neither blind nor stupid. You didn’t have to say it”.

“So why is it hilarious?” he asked and crossed his arms on his chest, eyebrows furrowed.

“You actually think you’re in love with him and he’s in love with you. So what now? You’re gonna have a relationship with him? You actually believe that you are… that _he_ is capable of such a thing? John, he doesn’t feel like that for anyone, he just doesn’t. One day he’ll grow tired of you and what’s gonna happen then? What’s gonna happen when he’s just… bored? What are you going to do?” she asked.

“He would never do that. I never said that I would…” John said irritated.

“Look at you, you’re already doubting it. The whole idea is just ridiculous. Has he ever even had a normal relationship before? I doubt it. This is just a phase, believe me. And now you honestly think you’re going to leave me - leave your WIFE - who is going to give birth to your CHILD - to be with him! John, I never took you for such a fool” she laughed cruelly.

“Stop it now” John yelled and jumped from his chair. His voice sharpened. “You don’t know how I feel about him and more importantly you don’t know how he may possibly feel about me”.

“Of course I do. I know you” she said calmly. “Even if you do love him, I know you love me too. The difference is, I love you too. He doesn’t” she got up and approached him. “And he never will” she stood right in front of him.

“He does” John growled. “We love each other” he wasn’t mad at Mary, well not really. He was mad at himself. Mad that he was allowing Mary to say such things and mad that he was beginning to actually believe them! No, he knew what Mary was trying to do and he wouldn’t allow her to play with his mind. Sherlock loved him and he loved Sherlock and that was all that mattered.

“Do you honestly believe that he’s capable of love? And even if he does, what is going to happen? Are you really going to give up on me, on US” she said and rubbed her belly pointedly, “to go and live with him? Just like that? Are you putting him above your family?” she asked defiantly.

“I… no… that’s not what I said… I’m…” John was startled.

“Honey” Mary cupped his cheek with her hand tenderly. “It’s not happening”.

“What’s not happening” he asked slightly confused, not brushing Mary’s hand away.

“You and him. It’s not happening” she explained and stroked his cheek. “To him, it’s only just a game until he gets bored of you and leaves you, because he will. One day you’ll go to him and he’ll just leave you” she looked at him with pity.

No, Sherlock would never do that. Sherlock loved him. He had looked into his eyes when he had opened up to him. The detective had admitted his feelings to him and he had cried. John was there, he had seen him, he had held him in his arms. No way was this an act. But then again Sherlock was a perfect actor and everything Mary said sounded reasonable to him. Could it all be just a game? Could he really leave his family and Sherlock would be just toying with him?

“You’re wrong” he whispered and pulled away. “You don’t know Sherlock. He loves me and I love him too. I should have realized that earlier, before I put that ring on your finger and for that I am sorry but it’s the truth. Our marriage is not working. It should but it’s not and we can’t keep pretending”.

“Let me ask you something then. If Sherlock is in love with you all this time and you were in love with him, because I refuse to believe that you just fall in love with him now, then why didn’t he deduce it earlier? You said that he died for you and yet he couldn’t confess his love and stop you from getting married? Why did he have to wait until now? Do you want me to tell you why? Because he doesn’t really care. Because he only wants to know how far he can get now that you’re married. But he’ll leave you once he’s done playing with you” she took one step closer to him.

“Alright, stop it! Stop it, Mary!” John said firmly.

“Why? Because you know it’s the truth?” Mary screamed now.

“You know nothing!” John screamed back. “You can’t stop me from seeing Sherlock and you can’t stop us from being together because that’s what’s going to happen. And to prove to you that I am not joking, I’m going to pack a bag and leave today. I won’t sleep here but I will come tomorrow when you’re calmer and we’ll talk some more” John said and tried to move past her.

“You’re not leaving” she said firmly and stood in front of him blocking his exit from the kitchen.

“What the hell?” he asked angry.

“You’re not going anywhere today, John” she repeated.

She couldn’t lose this battle now. It was very important to keep John there with her. She couldn’t let the man she loved go. It was too late to play good wife now. That idiot hadn’t done his job correctly and John and Sherlock had gotten together somehow right under her nose. Of course it must have been when Sherlock had been too hurt and left the house! Bloody useless imbecile, she knew Garth shouldn’t have done that. It was his fault and she would deal with him later. For now, she had other priorities.      

“What are you talking about? Mary, get out of my way, I’m leaving” John protested.

“Let me make myself clear” she said taking a deep breath. That was it. “If you leave now, I won’t stop you. But you’ll have to live with the consequences of your choice. You leave, you never come back. You never see me or the baby” she said and waited for John’s reaction which was what she expected. The doctor took a step back horrified, a look of utter desperation was on his pale face.

“You can’t do that!” he screamed. “It’s not legal, I’m the father you can’t keep my child from me. You’re bluffing, you wouldn’t dare”.

“Try me” she dared him. Make your choice now” she replied shrugging. “The man who has your heart or the woman who has your baby? Love or family? Choose now, John” she said coldly.

John took another step back disgusted by the situation. She couldn’t really mean that, could she? Would she really make him chose? And could he really chose? He knew that despite his growing hatred for the woman in front of him, there was no way he would ever give up on his child. But he couldn’t leave Sherlock either. His hear wouldn’t be able to take it now that he had found him to leave him again. And after everything Sherlock had been through, now that he found the courage to talk to John and trust him and be with him, if John left him now, he would destroy him. 

“Mary, please” he begged her. “Come and sit down. Let’s talk about it” he was near tears. He had to convince her. Otherwise he would be forced to choose. He would have to split his heart in two and kill one part. And as much as it pained him, and the pain was really unbearable, he already knew who he would pick.

“There’s nothing left to talk about” she said casually, having the audacity to smile. “I think I’ve made myself quite clear. The choice is yours, make it. Choose now” she walked back to their bedroom leaving John with a shocked expression and tears on his eyes.

“But…” he whispered.

He knew what he should do but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. How could he pick between his heart and his child? The choice was obvious actually but he couldn’t, he didn’t want to make that choice. He didn’t want to deliberately give up on someone of the two people he loved and was going to love more than his own life. But he knew that he had to. He slowly walked to their bedroom and opened the door where he found Mary sitting on the bed. She smiled at him.

“Smart choice” she said and patted the bed beside her.    

“I hate you” he whispered again.

“No, you don’t” she replied softly. He ignored her.

“I want something first” John refused to look into her eyes.

“Oh?” Mary was now curious.

“Let me go and see him. Talk to him and explain to him”.

“You can phone him” she answered.

“No” John said firmly. “I can’t leave him… through the phone” it was unbelievable hard to even say it. “Just let me see him, one last time and then it’ll all be over” he pleaded.   

“I suppose it’s fair” she said and sighed. “Alright, you go and see him one last time. Break up with him whatever it is you think you’ve got and then never again”.

John nodded and left the bedroom. With a heavy heart he got his mobile and texted Sherlock.

 

You done? I have to see you, we need to talk.

He waited patiently for the reply not really wanting to receive one. At least that way he could pretend he was still with Sherlock for a little more. His phone alert let him know that Sherlock had just replied him.

 

_I’m done. I want to see you too. I have something important to tell you. Can you come over to Greg’s in 20 minutes? He won’t be here. He’s with my brother… I’ll actually talk to him. I hope you’re happy because I’m doing it mostly for you._

John felt sick. How could he do that to Sherlock? How could he ever do that to his love? To his angel? But he had to. He was forced to.

He left his house. No. _Her_ house. It would never be his house again because he simply didn’t feel like that anymore. He walked to the street thinking about how he would tell Sherlock. He didn’t take a cab, he wanted to walk, he needed the fresh air. Also he needed to procrastinate this as much as possible. Breaking Sherlock’s heart was the last thing he ever wanted to do but it was his child. He was doing this for his baby. That baby hadn’t done anything wrong, it wouldn’t be fair to get punished and not have a dad. And Mary was telling the truth, she would really keep it away from John and tell him God knows what for him. The baby would grow up believing that his own father abandoned them. John’s father was drinking and as a child he had felt abandoned and he never wanted his child to feel this way. Not if he could do something about it.

He didn’t even realize he was in Greg’s house until he could see the door in front of him. He hadn’t managed to convince himself this was the right thing no matter what. The pain he felt was ripping his chest and he couldn’t make it to go away no matter how hard he tried to. He would give anything to avoid having to do that but Mary’s message was clear.

_The man who has your heart or the woman who has your baby? Love or family? Choose now.”_

He could only have one. This was not fair to him or to Sherlock. They belonged together. Life was definitely cruel. He knocked the door nevertheless and waited until Sherlock opened and let him in.

“John” he groaned and wrapped his arms around him. The doctor didn’t hesitate or even think about it and hugged him back pressing the detective’s slim body to his sturdier one. Sherlock stiffened immediately and pulled back away from John’s arms much to John’s desperate groan.

“What’s wrong?” he asked firmly. Of course he had noticed.

“Sherlock” John sounded defeated.

“What’s the matter?” Sherlock asked softer.

“Sherlock…” John almost sobbed.

“John! What happened? Did you speak to her? Isn’t she going to give you a divorce? John, you look very pale, sit down” Sherlock was really panicking now.

John just stood there quietly, staring at his feet and trying to get his words to straighten out in his head.

“I— I’m ending this Sherlock. Us” he said and shook his head as he looked up at the brunette, who was just staring at him. Great way to tell him, no preparation just straight to the point, brilliant!

“John?” he sounded confused and scared… and lost. John hated the sound of his voice so small and insecure. “What are you talking about?”

“You…” He laughed a little, but it sounded strained and hurt. “You love me. I know you love me, you told me and we…” he couldn’t finish. He also didn’t know about the baby. Should he tell him now? No, he probably wouldn’t accept it, would try to make him change his mind and he would manage it. If Sherlock started pleading him, John wouldn’t be able to deny him.

“But… I thought… you said…” Sherlock was now shaking. With anger? With sorrow? John didn’t know.

“No, Sherlock. Listen to me and let me finish. I love Mary. I married her, she’s my wife and this…” He motioned to them. “This is wrong. You’re my best friend, but I feel addicted to you. Addicted to the danger that comes with you, it’s not healthy, for either of us and it has to stop.” Sherlock could only stare at him in disbelief. He couldn’t believe John was saying this to him. It was just like Garth except this wasn’t Garth. It was John. His John. His John would never do that to him. Use him this way…

“Sherlock, I’m really sor—“ John started but was soon interrupted.

“You  _lied_ to me” Sherlock accused him deeply hurt.

John looked up at Sherlock, his head had lowered, hair hiding his eyes that were no doubt filled with tears. He wanted to reach out to him. Hold him and tell him he was sorry, comfort him any way he could but the balled fists made him keep his distance. He had to do this but watching Sherlock like this nearly killed him.

“You  _played_ with me. Just like Garth did, but damn it John, I trusted you! You made me believe that you actually loved me. I gave you  _everything_ willingly. Everything! And I would have given you even more”.  John recoiled a little as Sherlock raised his head, looking more devastated than angry. “How could you do that to me? I thought you loved me and you— you just threw me away. You are no better than he is”. He swallowed hard, words cracking and barely coming out in anything more than a whisper. “What did I ever do to you to deserve the way you’re treating me?” he chocked. Sherlock was breaking, and knowing that he had broken him was causing John to do that same.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry. You can’t even imagine how sorry I am” John wanted to cry. He wanted to crawl to Sherlock’s feet and beg for forgiveness, then make him stop crying and wrap him in his arms forever.

Sherlock laughed. It was a pained laugh that ended in a sob that broke John’s heart. Or whatever remained of it. The detective shook his head and looked away.

“Go” he said quietly, almost softly.

“No, Sherlock, please listen to me” John pleaded.

“Leave” Sherlock said more firmly and wrapped his arms around himself as if he was tried to shield his body from John.

“Sherlock…” John stood there utterly defeated. His heart was broken, he looked like a haunted man.

“Please” Sherlock begged. “Please just leave. Haven’t you done enough damage already? Go ahead and break my heart aa ypu want. Break it a thousand times if you like. It was only ever yours to break anyway. How much more do you need to break me until you’re satisfied?” more tears fell from his eyes. “I have nothing else for you to take anymore, John Watson” he whispered.

John chocked. He let the tears fall from his eyes and he knew that no matter how much Sherlock hurt right now, he was the one hurting the most. Having to do that to him, being forced to cause such great pain to this man was unbearable. It was undoubtedly the hardest thing he had ever had to do, including going to war. He fell to his knees and started crying.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he kept repeating.

Sherlock shook his head forcefully and took a deep breath before looking at John’s eyes.

“You were all I had, all I ever needed. You were the air I would kill to breathe. Your lies became my truth and now I have nothing left” he said softly. “Why?”

“I didn’t want to” John said desperately, reaching for Sherlock and grabbing his wrist but the brunet jumped away as if John’s touch had burnt him. 

“You didn’t want it” he laughed. “You. Didn’t. Want. It” he said almost screaming now. “You didn’t want it and Garth didn’t want it and nobody ever has the intention to hurt me but that’s what everyone always does. So apparently it’s my fault. I’m the faulty one. I wish I could have stayed in your life, but it looks like I was too much and not enough at the same time. I wish I could be more”.

“Sherlock this is not your fault” John said desperately.

“Then whose fault is it?” Sherlock asked and sounded so lost that John wanted badly to just grab him in his arms and soothe him.

“Mine. It’s only my fault. Sherlock, listen. Falling in love with you was beyond my control. Time has brought my heart to you” John was glad his voice didn’t tremble. “In the past, people made you believe that you were better off alone, safer. You divorced yourself from feelings. Back then, painful things happened to us. We drifted apart. It took time to figure out that there would be forgiveness between us in the future. We understood that we had to let our history go if we wanted to move forward. It seems that sometimes two people who are meant for each other are the last two to realize it. We never wanted to say it’s love, but sometimes what you get is so much better than what you wanted in the first place. We became more than friends at last. In the end it only made us stronger. We didn’t break and we didn’t burn. You were the one who broke my heart, and you were the one who fixed it again”.  

“So what did I do wrong? Why are you leaving me?” Sherlock sounded desperate and needy. He didn’t care. He was both and he wanted to know.

John shook his head.

“It’s complicated” was all he said which made Sherlock angrier.

“Complicated” Sherlock roared. “I don’t even deserve an explanation. You keep lying to me. Go, John. I don’t want to see you or speak to you right now. Leave!”

“But… Sherlock”

“Leave! Get the hell out of here and don’t you dare to come back. Just don’t.” Tears were escaping from the aquamarine eyes now as he looked over John’s face, too emotional to see anything.

“Sherlock, please… you don’t really mean that” John tried.

The detective let out a bitter, hurt sounding laugh as he shoved him back and pointed to the door, pushing him out of it.

“I said get the fuck out and don’t you dare ever come back! You aren’t my friend… I don’t have  _friends._ _Alone is what I have, alone protects me_ ”.

He scowled taking a step back and slamming the door in John’s face, the lock clicking. _Alone is what I have, alone protects me._ He kept repeating the mantra over and over in is head sliding down on the floor, his back pressed to the door. He brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly. He then buried his head in them and started sobbing loudly. He couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t handle all the pain. He was a worthless, unlovable person. The only two people he had ever loved in his life had used him and then thrown him away. That’s what he was best at. Being used. How could he ever let himself believe that he deserved to be loved by someone when history had proved to him thousands of times that he didn’t. He kept crying and banged his head on the door a couple of times.

Once John was outside and the door had locked, he touched the door, feeling sharp tears prickling in his eyes as he listened to Sherlock thud against the door and starting to sob.

_I’m so sorry._

_What have I done to you Sherlock?_

John started down the small stairs in front of the house, looking back up them once as silence took over Lestrade’s house.   

Silence and soft sobs.

Never once in his life had he felt more broken.

Sherlock remained on the floor. He kept crying until there were no more tears to shed and even then he kept crying without tears, an old skill developed early that hadn’t used ever since college. He hated John. He knew it wasn’t true although he wished he could hate the man, it would so much easier to move on. But… did he really want to move on? Was that what this was all about? He didn’t want to move on and find someone else to fall in love with only to have them use him too. That was the problem with putting others first; he’s taught them he always comes second.

He always loved them, always. Even when they gave him thousands of reasons not to. He had loved Garth back then for years even after everything he had done to him. Was that how it was going to be with John too? He would have to wait years until he would be able to forget him? He didn’t want that. He was tired of the pain. He was really very, very tired of everything— more than tired. He wanted to stop hurting. He had grown a heart only to have it broken. He had learnt to love, only to be forgotten. He had gained a best friend and lover, only to lose him. He couldn’t bear the pain in his heart anymore. He needed it to stop, he had to make it stop.

He got to his feet and walked over to Lestrade’s bedroom where he knew he would find what he was looking for. Greg had many difficult cases this month. A lot of them were repulsive and he could barely sleep at night. He knew it because he had noticed his eyes and the way he jumped. Inside his bedside table, he found them. A bottle of ramelteon (Rozerem). He searched his mind palace to find out what he knew about the sleeping pills.  _This was a sleep medication that worked differently than the others. It worked by targeting the sleep-wake cycle, not by depressing the central nervous system_ _. It is prescribed for people who have difficulty falling asleep. Rozerem_ _could be prescribed for long-term use and the drug has shown no evidence of abuse or dependence._

He didn’t really care at this point. He just wanted the pain to go away. He opened the bottle and inspected the content. There must have been about ten or eleven pills in there. He spilled them on his hand and just stared at them. Did he really want to do this for John Watson? He thought back the day he met the doctor at Barts. Mike Stamford had been the one to introduce them and he smiled at the memory. He remembered John’s surprised face when he told him about his “brother” and therapist. He had expected the poor man to run off but he hadn’t. because John Watson was no ordinary man, he was different. And then he remembered at the cab he was taking them to the very first crime scene to investigate the corpse of Mrs. Jennifer Wilson. It had only taken three words to make Sherlock fall for John. **That. Was amazing.**

 

_“That. Was amazing”._

_“You think so?”_

_“Of course it was. Extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary”._

_“That's not what people normally say”._

_“What do people normally say?”_

_"Piss off"._

 

He let himself giggle as they had done back then, the memory was now stronger than ever. Then he remembered about the other cases until the day he died. He shivered involuntarily. The look on John’s face and his screaming was something that had haunted Sherlock’s dreams for many months. And then he had returned and John had moved on, he had met Mary and he had gotten married. And Sherlock’s heart had broken just a little more. Then he remembered back at 221B the day they shared their first kiss and how amazing John was and how perfect it felt. He should have known it was not real. He should have known better. He could live without John, there was no doubt. He had lived before him after all. But just because he could live without him, it didn’t mean that he wanted to.  

His phone let him know that he had a new text. He weakly grabbed it with his free hand and looked at the screen, silently praying it was John apologizing and telling him this was all a bad joke. Reassuring him that he actually loved him and take him to bed to cuddle for ages. And Sherlock would let him. But unfortunately life is rarely so perfect and he cried when he saw it was indeed a message from John but it turned into an angry sob once he read it.

__

_**New text from: JOHN WATSON** _ __

Please don’t do anything stupid.

 

How dare he? How could he even text him after everything he did to him? After he ripped out his heart and broke it to pieces like it was made of glass? Like it didn’t matter to him at all? It probably didn’t but still… Sherlock made an ugly growl and threw the phone to the wall where it crushed and broke into a thousand pieces… just like his heart. The detective slid to his knees and closed his eyes taking a deep breath. Enough with the pain. He didn’t deserve all this pain and he wanted it to stop.

He lifted his hand with the pills and opened his mouth. In one quick move he shoved all of them down his throat and swallowed them. He let the bottle fall to the floor and he climbed on Lestrade’s bed, lying on his chest and closing his eyes. He was a bit sad that Greg would be the one to find him but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that too. He was finally at peace and he let a small smile form on his pale face. He didn’t feel the pain anymore. The nightmare would be finally over. Because that was what this must be. A nightmare. He didn’t care that he was going to die. Living seemed worse anyway.

“I love you, John” he whispered to the empty room. “Only you” and let sleep take him.

He wasn’t really afraid to die. He looked forward to it. Death was easy after all. Life was harder. In death everything was as it was supposed to be. If he was dead, he wouldn’t have to pine over John for the rest of his life because he knew he would never forget him. There are some people in life that you just can’t get over. Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't hate me guys but I did warn for angst didn't I? LOL sorry, I just love cliffhangers and I am a bad person ;) I'll try to update as soon as possible. Next chapter is going to contain some Sherlock-Mycroft brotherly love <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, did you all see Sherlock's trailer? Amazing right? I can't wait to see the episode! Now I know I promised you'd have some bonding time with Sherlock and Mycroft but that didn't happen. Someone gave me the idea to write how Mycroft met Greg and I said "why not?" So here it is, this chapter refers to the past...

Lestrade first met Mycroft Holmes on the night of the eleventh of July 2003. He was in his office at New Scotland Yard with Sally Donovan who was a newly promoted Detective Constable at the time. They were questioning a witness to a murder, but without making any headway. Sally had a knack for getting men to open up to her which used to surprise Lestrade considering her rather tactless behavior back then. But she’d always seemed to have a soft spot for young men, probably because she had a younger brother.

At some point, there was a brief kerfuffle in the hall, and the door to Lestrade’s office flew open. Standing there was a skinny, freckled officer shaking with barely contained fury. He had thinning brown hair and big green eyes and he turned his full attention to Lestrade.

“Detective Sergeant” he said in a rough voice, “there was a call about the man we’re looking for. He was found in a drug den. Will you make the arrest?”

Lestrade left Donovan with the witness and went to make the arrest himself. This was definitely going to guarantee him a promotion. Once inside the drug den they started looking for their man until Lestrade almost fell on top of someone. He cursed and looked at the person who was lying on a dirty mattress. He saw a young boy – no more than twenty – starring at him with terrified eyes. He was tall and incredibly thin and his dark hair was long enough to fall on his eyes. His skin was milky white but was marred with dark bruises. His eyes were an extraordinary blue color with some elements of gold and green and they were terrified.

“Please” the boy croaked and his body shook violently.

Lestrade was on his knees immediately and checked him over. Unbelievably slow breathing, heart rate and pulse, his pupils were dilated and he was shaking like a leaf. His lips were slightly blue due to low levels of oxygen in the blood. He was sweating and chocking on his own saliva and he also had muscle spasms, seizures and decreased consciousness. He wouldn’t respond to Lestrade, he just kept asking for help, begging the detective sergeant to not let him die. The sight was quite scary. The boy groaned and moaned in pain all the while asking to be saved. Greg tried to shake him vigorously but the boy just wouldn’t give any sign of acknowledge.

“Sir, did you find him?” a young policeman asked Lestrade.

“Forget Jack, come here and help me. Call an ambulance, hurry up!” Greg screamed at him and gathered the half conscious boy in his arms as the seizures continued. The boy was delirious and kept mumbling nonsense, slipping in and out of consciousness.

“The ambulance is on its way, sir” the young policeman was on Greg’s side once again. “What about Jack Pinter? We’ve got to find him”.

“Screw Pinter” Greg growled and wiped the sweat off the boy’s forehead. “Come on kid, stay with me. Can you hear me?” he called almost affectionately.

The boy kept trembling violently and trying desperately to breathe and stay conscious. But apparently he was losing the fight because soon his eyes began to lose focus and his eyelashes slowly closed. His breathing slowed down even more.

“Stay with me, damn it. Where is that bloody ambulance?” Greg screamed terrified and looked around him frantically.

“They’re here, sir” the young man replied. “Do you want me to…” but he didn’t get to finish his sentence. Greg was on his feet, having scooped the boy in his arms and walking towards the exit. He had passed out.

“Breathe. Oh, please, just breathe” Lestrade yelled at the boy. “Don’t stop, keep your heart beating. Don’t die, kid. Don’t you dare die on me… not today” _Not ever,_ he prayed inwardly. He did not want another death on his watch. Not such a young death, at any rate. The paramedics took the boy from him and tried to revive him. Lestrade hopped to the ambulance.

“Sir, only family is allowed” one of the paramedics told him but Greg growled in response.

“I’m a Detective Sergeant” he said and showed his badge. “I’m coming” it was not negotiable.

Once in the hospital, the trauma team wheeled the young boy in, preparing to resuscitate him when his heart stopped beating. Lestrade sat there with a very distressed look on his face. There was no mobile phone on him and neither an id so he had no idea who the boy was or if he had any relatives that should be informed.

As the detective sat there, a man around twenty seven was asking several doctors. He was waving his hands frantically and he looked really stressed. A nurse told him something and then he ran towards the waiting area where he saw Greg. He carefully approached him with a questioning look.

“Are you the man who found my brother?” he asked in what he hoped to be an intimidating voice without being able to conceal his worry.

“Your brother?” Greg eyed him.

“Tall, thin, dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes, incredibly careless and stupid” he finished getting angry and Greg had to repress a smile.

“Yes” he said and the man looked at him expectantly. “He’s had two cardiac arrests since we found him. The doctors say that if he gets too many, his heart will be too weak to continue on its own…” he stopped watching the worry increasing to the other man’s face. “But he’ll be fine. He’ll be okay” he prayed that he was right.

The other man nodded and just sat down in one of the waiting chairs. It was the first time that Greg got to notice his manicured hands and his tall form. He was fit and had thinning brown hair. Greg couldn’t help but stare a bit. Though there was nothing physically intimidating about this man with the expensive suit, Greg was ashamed to admit that he cowered in the face of the impending wrath of this oddly authoritative man.

“I’m Mycroft Holmes” he said suddenly.

“Gregory Lestrade” Greg replied and shook their hands.

“I don’t suppose you know who I am” Mycroft asked.

“No” Greg said in confusion. “I mean, I know you’re the boy’s brother but…”he shrugged.

The tall, fit man seemed disappointed in Greg’s failure to recognize him. Nevertheless, he soon recovered.

“I am someone with the capacity to make your future career very difficult indeed….” he sniffed. “…If I am not satisfied with the outcome of this discussion”.

Greg was stunned by the audacity of this man. He had just saved his brother’s life and this unknown man was practically attempting to threaten a policeman. Who the bloody hell did he think he was? But Lestrade was not a man easily intimidated so he lifted his chin and broadened his shoulders.

“Oh, my career will be difficult no matter what you do,” he couldn’t help but grin. “But how can I help you anyway?”

Again, Mycroft seemed bewildered by Greg’s response, but he persisted in trying to intimidate him.

“I will be forever grateful for saving my brother’s life. But here I must add, whatever you suspect my brother has done, I assure you that you are mistaken. If you persist in focusing your investigations on him, you will find your chances for promotion permanently stacked against you. Please accept my apologies for any trouble Sherlock may have caused, and I assure you that this will be the last you hear from him”, his voice remained quiet, but Greg could easily detect the steely determination underlying it.

“You are sorely mistaken” Lestrade raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Your brother is not a suspect and I do not investigate him. We were chasing a man who attempted murder and was currently located in the drug den where I accidentally but literally stumbled upon your brother. And I brought him here”.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and paled a bit. He took a deep breath and calmed down significantly. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. Finally his attention was back on Greg and he sighed in exasperation.

“Forgive me, Detective Sergeant. I’m deeply sorry for that. I really am grateful for saving Sherlock. If you hadn’t brought him here, he might have been dead by now” he said and sounded honest.

Greg shuddered. For some reason and although he didn’t know the kid at all, the mere thought of him dead was very unpleasant to Lestrade.

“No problem, I’m really glad I could save a life” he said and smiled watching the other man.

“Did he say anything?” Mycroft asked and returned the smile.

“No. He just asked for help and then he mumbled some nonsense. He was mostly unconscious” Greg replied and kept staring at the tall man.

“Ah, not at all. He’s been talking nonsense ever since he started talking” they both burst into laughing.

They stood smiling at each other for a long moment. Greg noticed that Mycroft looked very little like Sherlock. While Sherlock’s face was long and thin with prominent cheekbones, his brother’s was round, with a long, crooked nose. The color of Sherlock’s oddly slanted eyes seemed to vary between aqua, grey, and green, but his brother’s were a uniform, unremarkable grey. While Sherlock had voluminous, curly, dark hair, his brother’s was thin and already receding, even though he was only in his early thirties, I would guess. And though the color of his hair was similar to Sherlock’s, I could tell that he dyed it. Judging by his freckles and pale eyebrows, he was probably a ginger. What struck Greg was their names though. Mycroft and Sherlock, those were names one couldn’t forget easily but somehow they fitted them both.

Finally, Mycroft Holmes broke our moment of eye contact and he was up on his feet approaching a doctor and demanding to be left to see his brother. The doctor reassured him that he would be able to see him once he was stable and out of surgery. But for Mycroft it was still not enough. Lestrade tried his best to comfort the man and kept him company the long hours they waited until a doctor finally came out and told them that the boy was finally stable and out of danger. He was going to be okay and they could see him.  
_Thank you, kid. Thank you._ Lestrade sighed in relief. He was alive. Greg had saved a life and that was enough to keep him upright.

Mycroft walked past Greg but stopped and turned around to look at him.

“Will you come, Detective Lestrade?” he asked.

“Me?” Greg asked confused.

“You’re the one who saved his life” and then he added more slowly. “Besides he might not be thrilled to see me when he wakes up”.

“Why wouldn’t he” Greg asked without realizing he was being indiscreet. Mycroft coughed.

“Our relationship is… complicated” he said.

After that, Greg followed Mycroft inside the room where his brother was still unconscious, lying on the hospital bed. Mycroft sat on the sofa in the room, looking at his brother who looked quite peaceful. Just like how he used to. Mycroft bit back an uncharacteristic lump in his throat and fished around in his pocket for his wallet. He withdrew a cream-coloured business card.

“Detective Sergeant, this is my personal phone number. Please don’t give it out”. Greg shrugged because at the time he didn’t know Mycroft well enough to understand what a privilege it was to have personal access to him. He continued, “If you ever find that Sherlock is in any trouble again, I would appreciate it if you would give me a call right away. Especially if he’s been taken to hospital. Because I would prefer that our… family physician attend to any injuries he might receive.”

“Alright,” Greg smiled as he inserted the card in one of the empty slots in my own well-worn wallet. “Will do. But I hope I won’t have to ever call you for that”.

“You can never know with him anymore” Mycroft sighed.

“What is it?” Greg asked sitting near the other man, already feeling the strange need to help him however he could.

Mycroft just shook his head again but didn’t speak.

“Tell me” Greg pleaded and gently placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, surprising himself as well as the other man who nevertheless did not pull away.

So Mycroft began explaining how Sherlock was not an ordinary kid. He told Greg how brilliant he was, how much he hated being a high society kid and how he always excelled in everything he tried his hand at. He also told the detective sergeant with pride how Sherlock was the ideal child, brother and student and how almost everyone was jealous of him and was trying to compete with him. He proceed in telling how Sherlock avoided at all costs going out in public because he didn’t want to see the jealous glances his fellow students would always give him for his intelligence or his looks. He did not like etiquettes and therefore he was rarely found at a public gathering where these things mattered, much to his mother’s displeasure. But other than that, he was truly one of a kind.

“What happened?” Lestrade asked quietly.

“Love happened” Mycroft spat the word. “Or so he thinks”.

“Love?” Greg asked surprised by how nice the word sounded coming from the other’s lips.

“He fell in love with someone who made him like this. An addict. And he won’t let anyone help him because he thinks this is love. He’s devoted to that asshole and… and I feel so useless and weak because there’s nothing I can do to help him. That son of a bitch left and now he’s punishing himself because he thinks it’s his fault. It’s either that or him leaving made him so sad that he is trying to forget. Either way, I can’t save him from… this” Mycroft sighed and turned his head in order to prevent the other man from seeing the tears gathering in his eyes. But Lestrade saw them and didn’t judge. Instead he grabbed the other’s hand firmly in his.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked softly.

Mycroft jumped in surprise but quickly he composed himself. Then he just shook his head sadly.

“I don’t see how you could help, Detective Lestrade”.

“Greg” Lestrade insisted. “Call me Greg. And I don’t know… can’t I keep him distracted somehow?”

Mycroft looked at him in wonder.

“He is really smart. His brain is like an engine racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. There is no way he won’t use again. He needs to be distracted all the time which is slightly impossible” Mycroft sighed in exasperation.

“What if I can keep him distracted? What if I give him some cases to work on? What if I call him whenever I need his help? If he’s as smart as you say he is, he’ll be useful and that’ll keep his mind occupied” Greg said shrugging.

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he looked at the detective as if he was crazy. He couldn’t believe that this man who he had just met was willing to do so much to save his brother. The fact that he was willing to try and help even though they didn’t know each other, made Mycroft feel something warm inside his chest. It was a very unfamiliar feeling but not particularly unpleasant. In fact it was a very nice feeling and it was the first time he felt it and so he smiled at Greg again in gratitude and the detective returned the smile. Ah, he had the most beautiful smile Mycroft had ever seen, undoubtedly.

“You would do that for my brother? Detective Lestrade…”

“Greg, please” Greg interrupted him.

“Greg, once again I will never be able to repay you for what you’re doing for Sherlock… and for me” he said and blushed.

Greg was left speechless. He didn’t know what to say to this man. He was surprised himself! Could he really do that? Give to an unknown civilian – a junky – unlimited access to different cases could be proven a fatal mistake. And yet Greg found himself willing to try. He wanted to spare this man the pain. He wanted to save this man’s brother and above all else for some unknown reason, he wanted to see this man again. They both stood there staring at each other and smiling without realizing it.

“It’s gonna be alright” Greg said. “We’ll just wait until he wakes up so you can lecture him and then you’ll take him home and I’ll go to see if we’ve got a case we might need some help with” he pointed to Mycroft’s card inside his wallet. “If we’ve got something, I’ll phone you tomorrow and we’ll see how it goes. Alright? Sounds like a plan?”

Mycroft looked dubious, but eventually he gave a small nod. “I don’t know what I would do if Sherlock died, Greg,” he whispered. “If I lost him it would break my heart” he confessed.

“I know it would, but that won’t happen. I won’t let it happen. I’ll keep my eye on him all the time, I promise” he reassured surprising himself once again. What was the matter with him today?

Mycroft thanked him again emotionally and then they stayed like that content and silent until they heard a groan. They both turned their attention back to the hospital bed and the unconscious figure that was now slowly waking up.

“About time!” Mycroft growled and was on his brother’s side in a second.

Greg laughed and left the room, after saying good bye and whishing Sherlock to get better, leaving the two brothers alone. He chuckled on his way out of the hospital as he could practically hear Mycroft shouting at his little brother. Today had been an incredibly day that Greg could only describe as… weird. But deep inside he knew it was one of the best days of his life and eventually he would be forever grateful for saving this boy. Now all he had to do was go home and take some rest because tomorrow was going to be a very interesting day and honestly he was looking forward to it.

And he was right. The next day he had called Mycroft and told him they indeed had a case they could use some help – of course they did, they always did – and the man had immediately brought his brother to New Scotland Yard. But this time he looked quite different, more intimidating. He was tall and skinny but his skin was not that pale and his eyes were clear and you could see the fire burning inside them. He looked alive and healthy and… furious. He had deduced everything about Greg, his wife, his divorce, his sleeping problems… everything! And the young policeman had been very impressed. Greg just watched in amusement as he was sitting on his office chair the furious boy pacing his office. Apparently the younger Holmes was not pleased with the agreement Greg and Mycroft had had and refused to be a part of it as he claimed he didn’t need any help and he didn’t have a drug habit. But if Mycroft hadn’t managed to scare Greg off, Sherlock could be damn sure that he wouldn’t manage it either.

“Well, I still could use some help with this case” Greg told him kindly.

“And why should I help you? Why would you even ask me to help you in the first place? A young drug addict who you’ve never met before” Sherlock asked and crossed his hands on his chest.

“I thought you weren’t an addict” Greg said smirking. He was not mad with the kid’s behavior thought it was not the one he expected. The boy wasn’t kind and grateful like his brother had been but he was rather rude and obnoxious.

“That’s not the point” he yelled exasperated. “Give me one good reason why I should help you” he said.

Greg sighed. No, he was still not mad. The boy might have been utterly unfair and every sane person would just kick him out, but not Lestrade. Where others saw pure rudeness and dismissal, he saw vulnerability and uncertainty. He already felt close to the kid and he had the strange need to protect him and guide him somehow. He knew it was weird and it had nothing to do with the even weirder attraction he clearly felt for his older brother. It was pure instinct to help him out.

“I see you’re a very intelligent kid. You just deduced my life just by looking at my clothes and unshaved face” he ignored Sherlock who snorted. “I’m only asking you to take a look at the clues and see if you can point the one telling the detail we seem to miss”.

“Why?” Sherlock demanded again. “Is it because you have a crush on my brother, which is a complete abhorrence” he winced, which made Greg laugh.

“Listen, kid. I am not talking to your brother. I am talking to you. I am willing to allow you to help at the investigation…”

“In what exchange?” Sherlock interrupted him, looking incredulous.

“You stay clean” Greg said simply and Sherlock snorted again. “I’m serious. You use again and I’m going to kick you out. You stay clean and I promise you I’ll help you keep your mind occupied, feel the rush you so wish to feel. Get distracted”.

“Why do you want me to get clean so badly?” Sherlock asked more quietly now.

“Let’s just say I saved your life yesterday. And when you save a life, you’re responsible for it. And I’d really hate to find you one day dead with a needle stuck in your arm. Besides, it’d be a pity for such a brilliant mind to be wasted like that, don’t you think?”

Sherlock actually blushed at the compliment and shook his head flicking some dust off his sleeve.

“Many people have tried to get me cleaned before. As you can see all of them failed. What makes you think you can manage that?”

Now it was Greg’s time to smile in victory.

“Because I have something I’m sure none of them did. I can offer you something you want. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, the danger, the risk. All of that under one and only one condition that you will not use again. That is the deal. Take it or leave it” not Greg leaned back and watched the young boy who for the first time didn’t speak but he actually seemed to be thinking. Eventually Sherlock sighed in defeat and looked at him.

“Deal” he said and took the file from Lestrade’s desk.

Greg smiled and watched the boy’s eyes as he scanned the file, taking in every single detail, contemplating the clues and connecting the dots in his mind. For the next twenty minutes, he didn’t speak or move at all. He just remained there still and silent closing his eyes for a long time occasionally. It was rather fascinating. Finally, Sherlock put the file down and explained to Greg, with a bored expression, that the murderer was the girl’s father who had tried to rape her and when he failed, he accidentally killed her. Then he buried her body so that no one would find out and went home to his wife to announce their daughter’s disappearance.

Lestrade was bewildered by the boy’s impassiveness and ruthlessness but Sherlock had barely shrugged it off as unimportant since the case was solved. His indifference was a bit unnerving but as he explained to Greg, him caring and mourning wouldn’t actually change the facts but would merely distract him so he would continue not making that mistake. Greg had realized then that there was a reason behind Sherlock’s heartless behavior but decided not to bring it up yet. There was a story behind those haunted blue eyes and Greg could only imagine what hell he had been through. So he took it upon himself to never let anyone hurt the boy this way ever again.

“My brother is asking me to return” Sherlock announced. “Would you be so kind as to give me a lift home? I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you, maybe have some coffee or tea together, Detective Lestrade”.

“Greg, please. And it would be my pleasure” Greg smiled and followed the young boy as he realized Sherlock was never going to tell him that he accepted him but this was his way of showing it. He had invited him to go and have coffee with his brother and more importantly he had accepted the arrangement and as long as he remained clean, Greg was going to make sure to keep his part of the deal.

And so Greg took Sherlock home and he had a cup of tea with Mycroft. Sherlock kept helping Greg with his cases and the man made sure to keep the boy out of trouble. Without even realizing it he had become a father figure to the boy as he would go to him to ask for help or advices and many nights he would stay over to Greg’s house where the man would help him with his withdrawals and the cravings. He also kept seeing Mycroft, at first to let him know about how his brother was doing as the relationship between the two brothers was… complicated, but soon they were just going out for tea, coffee or even lunch just to be in each other’s company until they started officially dating. Even though they never told Sherlock, he had always known and the fact that he had never protested made Mycroft really happy. They all knew that he loved Greg even if he would never admit it.

 

 

 

Which was why, after so many years, when Greg returned to his home, he looked forward to seeing the great detective and have a little conversation with him. he was going to convince him to talk to Mycroft and that was the end of it. Now that Sherlock was with John, he knew that the man would set his pride aside and he would actually make an effort to tell his brother everything. Greg knew that Mycroft wouldn't get mad at Sherlock. The older man could never get mad at his little brother because he actually adored him and the detective inspector knew that the feeling was mutual, no matter how tough the brothers pretended to be. Sherlock hadn't seen the worry in Mycroft's face every time he had been at the hospital and Mycroft had never seen how desperate his little brother was to make him proud because both of them concealed their feelings, putting on a mask of perfect indifference in the other's presence.

So once Greg was in his house, he yelled Sherlock's name, wondering where the man was when he didn't get a reply. It wasn't really uncommon, Sherlock took a habit to ignore him a long time ago so the detective inspector didn't worry. Instead he took off his coat and started looking at every room of the house. He wasn't in the kitchen or the bathroom and he didn't see him on the couch in the living room where he'd left him. John was gone as well. Had he gone somewhere with John? No, they would have let him know. Sherlock wouldn't exactly care to leave him a note but John would have thought that he'd be worried. So, John was out of the question too. Where the hell was this man? He took out his phone and sent a message to John, just to be sure.

_Hey John, is Sherlock with you?_

_"_ Sherlock, you here mate?" he screamed again but nobody replied.

Then, he received a reply from John.

_No, he was at your house when I left. Did something happen? Greg, what's the matter? What's wrong?_

Greg began to worry then. If John had left Sherlock there and he also didn't know what had happened so had something indeed happened? Taking a deep breath, the detective inspector went to his bedroom. As soon as he opened the door, he stepped on a bottle and almost fell. Reaching down, he grabbed the recognisable bottle of the sleeping pills which he noted was now empty. His eyes began to scan the room frantically until they rested on the unmoving figure sprawled on top his bed.

"Oh no. Jesus... no" he ran to Sherlock and checked him over still holding the empty bottle.

He should call an ambulance or at least phone John and Mycroft. He should do something but he couldn't move. He remained still, clasping Sherlock in his arms. He willed himself to move, to do something, anything but it was impossible to move his limbs. He remembered back then when he had found Sherlock in that drug den half dead and now after all these years all he could do was just stay there with the unconscious man in his arms, looking desperately for pulse and finding none...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will definitely have Mycroft-Sherlock, I promise! I don't know when I'll update next because I have some problems with my internet :( Comments are always welcome, please enjoy!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here it is, this chapter contains Sherlock and Mycroft's reconciliation like I promised! LOL watch out, I've brought in the big guns now! Mycroft is not gonna be happy...! ;) BTW did you all see Sherlock's special episode trailer? How amazing was it? I can't wait to see Ben & Martin at Victorian era!!!

 Greg was terrified to say the least. He stood there like a statue staring with wide eyes at Sherlock. The younger man was unconscious and completely still. With his eyes closed, his unmoving chest and the natural paleness of his skin he looked pretty much like a corpse and the Detective Inspector hated the image. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so afraid in his life, not even when Sherlock had jumped off Bart’s. Even then, he had been secretly hoping that somehow the man had survived the fall but this was very different. Greg was the one holding Sherlock’s dying body in his arms and there would be no doubt this time.

Suddenly as if a switch had turn on Greg’s realization, the older man frantically searched for his mobile phone cursing aloud when he couldn’t find it in his pocket. He looked around his bedroom, never once leaving Sherlock, until he finally spotted it right in front of the open door. Crawling there like a crazy man, he caught it and called an ambulance as he tried to remember everything he knew about CPR, forgetting all about his own shock. He started doing a conventional CPR combination of chest compressions and rescue breathing. First, he placed the heel of his hand on the center of Sherlock's chest and then he placed the heel of his other hand on top of his first hand, lacing fingers together. Then he started pushing hard and fast, compressing Sherlock’s chest at least 2 inches and let chest rise completely before pushing down again. He tried compressing at least 100 times per minute as he remembered he should.

Once he was too exhausted to continue, he pressed his ear on Sherlock’s chest and almost cried when he felt the small movement. He grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and was relieved beyond belief when he found a faint pulse. His breathing was dangerously weak but still, better than being completely dead. He knew they should have his stomach pumped and he was afraid that a psychiatric evaluation might be ordered since the overdose was intentional. But none of these mattered now, he had to take Sherlock to the hospital and the bloody ambulance hadn’t arrived yet.   

He carefully placed him in the recovery position and prayed for the ambulance to arrive soon. Greg loosened Sherlock’s clothing and tried to keep him warm and provide reassurance wrapping his arms around the unconscious body and rubbing soothing circles on his back and whispering in his ear.  He kept monitoring the detective’s vital signs, his pulse and rate of breathing, until the emergency medical help finally arrived.

They took Sherlock on the ambulance and Lestrade gave them the empty bottle he had found on the floor. He insisted that they let him go with Sherlock even though he wasn’t technically family and after a few negotiations they agreed. When Greg was sitting beside Sherlock and as the detective lay cold and almost lifeless, Greg held his hand just to make sure he still had a pulse and he tried to understand why the man had done this to himself. He had known Sherlock for years now and never the man had shown any signs of suicidal tendencies.

“Why?” he asked Sherlock. Of course he wasn’t expecting an answer. “Why did you do it, you stupid man?” he yelled and finally let the tears fall.

He didn't think he could deal with this another time. This man – this kid he had once found almost dead – was going to get himself killed, and however angry Lestrade pretended he was at him, he knew if it happened, it would destroy him. He couldn’t let it happen, Sherlock was like his little brother or like his son. He couldn’t imagine that if he had stayed with Mycroft a little more, if he had agreed to spend the night with him, Sherlock would be dead. He didn’t even wanna think about it so he closed his eyes and tightened his hold on the other man’s hand.

Once they arrived at the hospital, they took Sherlock to surgery immediately so they could pump his stomach. Greg sat down at the waiting room with his head buried in his hands. What could have possibly gone so wrong? Last time he had seen Sherlock, he looked happier than ever in John’s arms… _John._ Apparently he had something to do with it, he couldn’t think of any other reason driving Sherlock to try and kill himself considering the hell he had been through all these days and not once had he hurt himself. Should he call him and ask him then? Or maybe the man had no idea about it. Still, should he call and let him know? And then there was Mycroft too. He had to call Mycroft and he didn’t look forward the worry and pain the older Holmes would endure.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket and with trembling hands he searched his contacts until he found Mycroft’s name and he began to text him. He knew it was horrible and he had to talk to him instead of sending him a message but he was so exhausted and shocked that he had no power in him to support the other man. When he let Mycroft know what had happened and begged him to come quickly, he searched for John’s name. His finger touched the name a bit hesitant but he shook off the feeling and called the man. He wasn’t surprised when John replied immediately.

“Greg?” he sounded worried.

"John!" Greg's voice sounded strained. "Glad you don’t have a shift at the clinic or something”.

"Yeah, I’m home. Is something wrong? Why are you calling?" John sounded harsh and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve been trying to call Sherlock and…”

“Something happened with you and Sherlock” Greg interrupted him. It was not a question.

“Well… yeah” John sounded defeated.

“Look, I don't know what you're dealing with right now, but something happened and I thought you'd want to know. I mean something really bad. Sherlock..." Greg's voice trailed off.

"What? Is Sherlock... okay?" John's voice cracked, a lump of fear forming in his stomach. John dropped whatever he was doing and had now started pacing.

Greg heaved a deep sigh over the phone line. "He… uhm, he tried to kill himself, John. He overdosed on sleeping pills, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an accident".

The hall dipped and swayed as John's throat filled with bile. He stumbled, caught himself on the wall, then slid down to sit on the floor. "Is... he...?"

"He's not dead." Greg reassured him. "But he almost succeeded. He was on my bed… he had swallowed the entire bottle of my slipping pills. If I hadn't found him when I did...." he stopped taking a big breath.

John wasn't sure when the tears had started falling, but his face was wet. "What...what can I do?" he chocked.

Greg was silent for a beat, two beats.

"Look. The last weeks... I know it hasn't been easy for him. I don't know if seeing you would make it better or not right now, but I just... he was happy with you, John. I saw you together. What happened?"

A strangled whimper escaped John's throat and he clutched the phone so tight he was sure he'd leave indents in the receiver.

"It’s really complicated, Greg. But I swear to you I never wanted to hurt him. I know I did and trust me it nearly killed me" John rasped.

“What? What did nearly kill you?” Greg insisted.

“I… I left him. I kind of… we were together and then… we weren’t” John wasn’t making much sense as he was now sobbing. 

Greg remained silent for a little while. When he spoke his voice was harsh.

“Why?”

John had to take deep breaths to calm himself before speaking again.

“It’s complicated” he managed to say.

“Isn’t it always with you two?” Greg asked and sighed.

“Please, Greg. I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never wanted things to be like that. Let me… let me explain to you why I did it. I love him, you must know that” John said desperately.

“Are you coming?” Greg asked.

"If I come... will he see me?" John sounded hesitant.

"I don't know... he's not conscious right now. He’s still in surgery. He wasn’t breathing when I... found him. I guess later he'll be sedated".

"I’ll take a cab and be right there" John sounded devastated. “He’s gonna be alright, right? He… he’s not…”

"I told you he was alive when I brought him here” Greg sounded harsher than he had wanted but he couldn’t help feeling protective over Sherlock and mad at John. The man had known what Sherlock had been through and Greg could see clearly that they loved each other. It wasn’t in John’s nature to do something so cruel to Sherlock so he must have had a pretty good reason. He better has or else… Greg shook his head. No, he would listen to him first and then he would decide what to do. John was a good man and a friend of Greg’s but if he had intentionally hurt Sherlock like that, Greg wouldn’t hold back on him. Or better he might just let Mycroft deal with the doctor. For now, he would give John a chance to explain himself.

“I’m on my way” John said.

“Hurry, won't you?" Greg told him and hung up before rubbing his face. Mycroft was going to be there soon too and he had to make sure that the older Holmes didn’t find out it was John that drove Sherlock to suicide. If he knew, there would be nothing in the world to keep him from making John disappear. And he still didn’t know about Garth. But that was Sherlock’s place to tell him. Just like he had expected, Mycroft ran to him shortly after. He looked horrible. His eyes were wide open and a bit red and he looked worn out.

“What happened? How is he?” he sounded panic-stricken.

“He took all my sleeping pills. I’m sorry, Myc” Greg said and hugged the man who hugged him in return.

“How? I mean, why?” Mycroft pulled back and looked Greg who wouldn’t look him back. “What happened? You’re hiding something from me” he accused.

“No. I’m sorry, you need to ask him. I’m not sure myself” Greg said apologetically.

“Is he okay?” Mycroft asked again.

“He was alive when I brought him here so he’s gonna be fine” Greg gulped and prayed that he was right. “Let’s just sit here and wait for the doctor”.

“Where’s John?” Mycroft asked after a while. 

“He’s… on his way” Greg didn’t know what to do. Should he tell Mycroft the truth? But what was the truth? He himself didn’t know what had happened. No, he had to wait for John.

Just then, a doctor came out and approached them.

“How is he?” Mycroft asked immediately.

“He’ll be fine” the doctor said and they both sighed in relief.

“Thank Goodness” Greg almost screamed.

“We had his stomach pumped and we managed to get all the… poison out. He’ll be okay although now he’s sedated.

“Can we see him?” Greg asked holding Mycroft’s hand.

The doctor nodded and told them which room he was in and the two men took off immediately. The room was pristine with wood floors and cupboards lining the walls. A hospital bed was parallel to a line of windows with a view of the parking lot. A TV on the wall was dark. Once inside the room, Greg sat at the couch while Mycroft brought a chair next to Sherlock’s bed. He looked like a child in the hospital bed. His black curls stuck out in all direction and his face was wan and pale. He'd lost at least seven pounds since Mycroft had last been with him - seven pounds he couldn't afford to lose and the older man winced. At that moment, Sherlock had his head turned, his clear blue eyes were closed and even though he was asleep he still looked like a haunted man.

“What did he do?” Mycroft asked as he gently grabbed Sherlock’s pale hand.

“Who?” Greg asked quietly.

“Don’t play dumb” Mycroft’s voice increased. “You know who”.

“I don’t know” the Detective Inspector replied.

“You’re lying. You think I can’t tell? I can practically smell the stink of your lies and it’s bloody unbelievable. I demand that you tell me what did he do?” Mycroft yelled and Greg flinched slightly.  This voice didn’t belong to the man who he loved. It belonged to that cold, unfeeling man he had met a few years ago. Greg hated this tone in his lover’s voice.

“I really don’t know what happened” he said.

Mycroft sighed remorseful and buried his head in his hands. He turned his head to Greg and Lestrade was surprised to see tears in the man’s blue eyes.

“I’m sorry” he whispered. “I just… it’s been years ever since I had to see him like that and… it was you who saved him. Again. Thank you, Greg. No matter how many times I say it, it still won’t be enough. I’m not mad at you, I’m just… really stressed. Sorry for sapping at you” he sighed.

“It’s okay, Myc” Greg was up on his feet and at Mycroft’s side immediately. He wrapped his arms around the other man and rested his head on top of the other’s.  

The two men stayed like that for a few minutes until Mycroft felt movement underneath his hand. He immediately let go of Lestrade and both men bent over Sherlock, watching him intently, waiting for him to wake up. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered and opened just a fraction. He looked around the room unable to focus on anything. He groaned softly and turned his eyes to the two men who were watching him like hawks. Sherlock coughed a bit and then tried to talk. His eyes felt heavy and his mouth incredibly dry.

“Where?” he whispered.

“Hospital” Greg replied immediately.

“Sherlock, do you remember what happened?” Mycroft asked gently.

"Why'm I here?" he mumbled, running a dry tongue over cracked lips.

A familiar face came into view - Greg, a worried expression on his face.

"Sherlock? Hey...welcome back! What'd you say?" he asked him and scooted closer to the hospital bed.

Sherlock swallowed painfully, tried to clear his throat.

"I'm not s'posed to be here..." he croaked.

"I found you, Sherlock. I... God, I couldn't just let you die!" Greg brought his fist to his mouth and bit it so that he wouldn’t start crying. He had to remain strong for both Holmes’ brothers now.

“How are you feeling?” Mycroft asked him again.

"But I wanted to..." Sherlock ignored his brother as if he hadn’t listened to him at all. His voice grew thinner as he felt himself fading back into sleep. "You should have... you should have let me go..."

His eyes finally closed and Mycroft and Greg watched him drift back to sleep. Mycroft took a deep breath trying to conceal his anger.

“I’ll kill him. If he comes here, I’ll fucking murder him” he murmured trying not to disturb his sleeping brother.

“It’s not his fault” Greg replied immediately not bothering to ask who Mycroft was talking about. Mycroft gave him a pointed look.

“Do I look like a man who can be deceived easily?” he asked and gritted his teeth. “Don’t try to defend him”.

“Just hear him out, okay?” Greg felt helpless. “You know John, he’s a good man. And he loves Sherlock, you know he does. You’ve deduced it long before these two figured out their own feelings. And Sherlock apparently loves him back. I don’t believe that John would hurt him intentionally and if he did, he must’ve a good reason. Just let him explain himself when he comes”.

Mycroft’s face darkened but he didn’t protest. He had known of course that these two men loved each other for a long time. It was pretty frustrating watching them dance around each other and try to ignore their feelings. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Greg was right. John would never to that and he had to give the man the opportunity to defend himself. He had lost control over his anger and worry and he didn’t like that. Sherlock was the only person who managed to make him lose control of himself. He always had. And well… Greg occasionally made him lose control. He shook his head and sighed.  

Greg’s phone let him know that he had a text. After Greg looked at it, he looked at Mycroft and took a deep breath.

“John’s here. I’ve got to go and see him. Well…”

“Don’t let him come in here” Mycroft said sternly.

“What? Myc, I thought we agreed…” Greg didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“We agreed that I shouldn’t kill him… yet. But I don’t want him anywhere near Sherlock until I find out what’s happened. I’ll have a talk with him first and then I’ll decide if I’ll allow him to see Sherlock. Besides, I need to have a conversation with my brother. Don’t think that I’m blind, Greg. I care deeply and I can’t keep pretending I don’t see what’s going on”.

“You mean…” Greg paused. “You know what’s been happening with him and…” he couldn’t finish.

“I have an idea. As soon as I find out Garth was back, it wasn’t difficult leap” the older Holmes said.

“I was going to tell you everything but he didn’t want me to. I mean, I figured he should be the one to tell you” Greg looked at the floor.

“I know” Mycroft sighed. “I’m not really mad at you. Maybe a little upset but nothing more. I was waiting for Sherlock to talk to me but that didn’t happen. So I’ll wait until he wakes up and I’ll talk to him instead. I don’t want anyone to interrupt us, is that understood? You keep him out of here” his tone was harsh.

“Alright. You two talk, I’ll keep John out of here until you’re gone. But you have to let him explain. And you must let him talk to Sherlock if only to give him some… peace and quiet”.

Mycroft nodded and Greg walked out of the room closing the door behind him. He walked the long corridor and down the stairs until he found John bent over the receptionist, probably asking about Sherlock’s room.

“John!” Greg shouted.

John turned around and sighed in relief. He left the young woman who gave him a weird look and approached Greg. He looked anxious and the Detective Inspector could practically hear his racing heart and feel the tightening of his chest.

“Is he okay?” John asked.

“He’ll be fine” Greg repeated and some of the tension left John’s shoulders.

“Is he awake?” he asked carefully.

Greg shook his head.

“He came to a couple of minutes ago for a bit, but went back to sleep pretty quickly. I don’t think he’ll be saying much when he wakes up. The doctor's say his stomach will be fine, but they want to schedule a psych evaluation before he can go anywhere".

John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“This is all my fault. I have to go to him. I need to be close to him” John made to move but Greg stopped him.

“I think better not”.

“Get out of my way” John sounded angry. This was Captain Watson speaking now and it was apparent that he would do anything to get to Sherlock and Greg had to physically restrain himself from punching the shorter man.

“You really don’t wanna go in there. Mycroft’s in the room and he’s really pissed. I think he wants to kill you right now so don’t you dare just barge into Sherlock’s room. Actually I’m incredibly mad too. What the hell happened, John?”

The doctor immediately calmed and buried his head in his arms. His shoulders bean to shake as he tried and failed to keep himself from crying. A few tears escaped his eyes but he wiped them away quickly.

“I didn’t mean to break up with him. I never wanted to leave him” John chocked.

“Then why did you?” Greg’s voice increased.

John took another deep breath and began telling his story. He told him about Mary and the blackmailing and how he had been forced to leave Sherlock and how he had been devastated but he couldn’t contact him again and he was extremely worried. He finally sighed not knowing what to do and continued his story about how he now hated Mary and didn’t even know if he could love this child. A child that was his and had done nothing wrong. When he finished he shook his head and rubbed his temples. Greg was looking at him with wide eyes. John had to sit down. He suddenly felt exhausted and his legs felt as if they were made of jelly.

“Say something” John pleaded Greg.

“Wow” Greg said finally.

John closed his eyes.

“Say something else” he said.

Greg shook his head.

“I don’t know what to say, mate but I believe you. Don’t worry about this, there is no way she can keep the baby away from you. You’re the father, you have rights” he sounded enraged.

“I don’t know what to do, Greg. What if she just take the baby and leave? I don’t want this child to grow up hating his or her father for abandoning them. It wouldn’t be fair”.

“I understand. Don’t worry. Let me talk to Mycroft and you go and tell Sherlock everything” Greg patted him on the shoulder.

“Sherlock doesn’t know Mary’s pregnant. I didn’t want to tell him because he would feel guilty. Maybe he wouldn’t wanna see me anymore” John sighed again.

“John” Greg’s hold on John tightened. “Tell him everything” he said a bit forcefully now. “You’re a very good friend of mine but you know the relationship I have with Sherlock. I won’t let you hurt him again”.

John nodded and together with Lestrade went to wait outside of Sherlock’s room.

Meanwhile, Mycroft had remained by his brother’s side until the younger man slowly moved his hand a little. The older man didn’t speak, slowly pacing the room. He just stayed there studying his younger brother lying in the hospital bed. He was very thin, like a skeleton with a thin sheet of pale skin stretched tightly over his gangly figure. His long arms were riddled with bruises and several scars. Scars he knew exactly who had put there. Mycroft cringed at those thoughts. Thoughts of a nineteen Sherlock being so hurt and tormented enough to take drugs. Now he looked the exact same person, almost ten years later suffering again so much that he would prefer to take his own life. He felt he had completely failed as an older brother. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. He should have known earlier. He should have done something back then when Sherlock was slowly destroying himself but he hadn’t. Now he would.

Why hadn’t he noticed the signs before? He had talked to the man, the signs were there for him to see, Sherlock had practically begged him to see and he hadn’t. Mycroft fought to held back tears as he looked at Sherlock’s sunken in eye sockets, the dark circles, and the even more prominent than usual cheekbones. _Why aren’t I a better brother?_ He thought frustrated with himself. He wiped his eyes. He hadn’t cried in front of Sherlock all these years and he wouldn’t do it now. He sunk in the chair next to Sherlock’s bed and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

Sherlock’s eyelids began to flutter until his eyes opened slowly all the way and he took in the room. He sighed and coughed roughly as he remembered everything that had happened.  

“Water” he gasped and kept couching.

Mycroft hurried to get him a glass of water and held it to his lips with one hand as the other supported the young man’s head while he drank greedily. Once he had finished, he closed his eyes again and scrunched up his face in pain as he tried to sit up.

“Why on earth did you bring me here?” he spat with a rough voice.

“You know, you could say “thank you”. I’m glad to see you’re fine” Mycroft sounded rather annoyed.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For saving your life, perhaps?”

“Did it ever cross your mind that I didn’t want to be saved, that I wanted to die?” Sherlock sounded maniac.

Mycroft was once again render speechless. Silence lingered in the room. When he managed to speak, it came out a whisper.

“I’m just trying to help you”.

“I don’t want your help” Sherlock declared coldly. “I don’t want anyone’s help”.

The words cut through Mycroft like a knife. He felt tears pushing to escape but he held them back.

“Sherlock, please. I can’t let you ruin yourself”.

Sherlock looked at him. He looked like he wanted to say something but he didn’t. Both brothers were trying to remain cold as ice, fighting for control. Mycroft avoided his brother’s cold stare in fear that if he looked at him longer, he would’ve broken and wept in front of Sherlock. Mycroft never cried in front of his brother. He never showed him his weaknesses. Never.  

“Why do you even pretend to care?” Sherlock asked coldly causing Mycroft to lock eyes with him again.

“I don’t pretend” Mycroft replied simple.

“Oh, please. Why can’t you just leave me alone like you’ve done all these years? Who told you that I want you here?” he asked sharply.

Mycroft didn’t say anything. He remained quiet until he can’t hold it back anymore.

“Why is it so hard for you to accept my help?”

Sherlock laughed. It’s a bitter laugh.

“Your help? When did you ever offer to help me without judging me? When did you ever attempt to listen to me and understand me? All you’ve ever done is tell me how wrong I am, how pathetic is what I do and how disappointed you are in me. Well yes, Mycroft, this is who I am. I am sorry to be such a disappointment but I’m not gonna change. I don’t accept your help simply because you’ve never really offered to actually help me!” Sherlock was screaming now. Angry tears falling down his face but he didn’t care. Mycroft flinched back.

“Of course I’ve offered my help. I’ve always wanted you to be well. I was never disappointed in you, how could I ever be? You were an amazing kid, do you remember? Before the drugs and before Gath? You were perfect. But even after all that, I was still there. I was always there for you, I just didn’t show any weakness. I tried to be strong for you. Perfect” Mycroft said.

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want a perfect brother, that I wanted a brother who felt, a brother that wasn’t afraid to act human” Sherlock exploded. “I didn’t want you to teach me how caring is not an advantage or how love is a weakness. You always told me not to get involved”.

“I was trying to protect you”.

“Of course. My choices were always wrong, weren’t they? Of course they were. I have grown a heart only to have it broken. I’ve learned to love, only to be forgotten. Twice”.

“Sherlock, I’m really sorry…”

“All I’ve ever wanted was for you to care” he spat the word.

“I care” Mycroft whispered and Sherlock stood there still, shocked as he show a tear rolling down his brother face. “I’ve always cared. I just never showed it to you. Which was my biggest mistake and I apologize. I see now that the way I was treating you wasn’t the right one. I should have been there for you. I’m sorry” his voice broke.

“Mycroft? Are you… are you crying?” Sherlock stuttered and the older Holmes laughed.

“It appears so. You see, no matter what I’ve caused you to believe for me, I am still human”.

“But… why?” he asked and was incredibly shocked when Mycroft lifted his face and Sherlock saw the reddened eyes.

“I can’t lose you” he said again simply.

Sherlock was so shocked that he didn’t even realize when his hand raised on his own volition and touched Mycroft’s arm gently.

“You won’t lose me” he whispered.

Mycroft leaned and wrapped his arms around his brother’s torso. They were both surprised when Sherlock returned the hug and tried to burry himself in his brother’s chest. Mycroft felt the slight tremors and he began stroking Sherlock’s curls just like when they were little kids. Closing his eyes Sherlock didn’t even realize he was crying. He didn’t even realize it, totally lost to the comfort of his brother’s arms. For the first time since he couldn’t remember when, he felt safe and secure. It was such a warm and unfamiliar feeling and Sherlock _loved_ it. He clung to Mycroft, tightening his arms around his brother and buried his head to his brother’s shoulder and pressed his body to the other’s chest.

“It’s okay, shh, you’re gonna be fine” Mycroft said gently holding his brother tight to him. As the younger man cried, Mycroft allowed a few more silent tears escape his eyes too. “Tell me, Sherlock. Tell me what’s been happening?”

Suddenly Sherlock couldn’t hold it in him anymore. He didn’t want to. So he told his brother everything. He told him how he had realized he felt about John even before the Fall but had never the courage to tell him. He explained how he had to stand by and watch John getting married and then go to Italy. Then he told him about Garth and everything he’d been through again. Finally he talked to Mycroft about the moment he had share with John and how for a second he had thought that he was actually going to be happy. But then John had left him and he had ended up here. Mycroft didn’t interrupt him at all. He just stayed there supporting his brother while he talked. When he was done, he was sobbing louder than before. Mycroft carefully climbed on the bed, not caring about the doctors and pulled Sherlock so he was sitting in his lap. He placed his head again on his shoulder and let Sherlock curl on his chest when he went back to stroking his hair and rubbing shooting circles on his back.

Sherlock wanted to forget John's words, his touches...he wanted to forget the feelings he'd felt. He wanted to forget but knew it would hurt more than remembering. He couldn't forget John, couldn't forget what had happened between them nor could he forget the promises they'd made. The soft whispered words said in the dark but with so much love and promise. They had said they loved each other. What happened to that? Was it lies? No, it couldn’t have been, Sherlock would have noticed. But had he been blinded by his desire for affection, his desire for John?

“Why?” he whispered brokenly.

“Why what, brother dear?” Mycroft asked

“Why did he do that? Why did he lie to me? What did I do wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, Sherlock. We’ve all done something wrong but not you” he whispered gently.  

“Then why did he leave me?” Sherlock screamed desperately. “Am I such a bad person? Why does everyone I love end up hurting me?”

“It’s not like that” Mycroft tried to calm him down. “Sherlock it’s fine. John didn’t mean to hurt you”.

“But he did!” Sherlock screamed again before taking a deep breath and pulling back. “I just don’t understand” he said and wiped his eyes.

“That makes two of us” he said and smiled. “But don’t worry, I promise you I’ll find out. But there’s one think I know for sure. John loves you. But I can guarantee you that he won’t be coming anywhere near you until I figure out exactly what has happened. As for Garth, you don’t have to worry about anymore. I promise you that he’ll pay for what he did to you… again”.

“Don’t kill him” Sherlock squealed.

“He won’t be a problem ever again” Mycroft continued ignoring his brother.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock started hyperventilating. “You will not hurt him, do you hear me?”

“Jesus, Sherlock, how can you defend him after everything he’s done to you?” Mycroft sounded angry.

“He helped me. He didn’t wanna do all this to me. Someone brought him back here. A woman. You promised you’d try to understand me. Don’t hurt him” Sherlock grabbed his brother’s arm violent.

“Fine” Mycroft spat and Sherlock relaxed again.

“Oh, brother dear, where have you placed all your feelings and they keep making their appearances now?” he tried to joke and Sherlock laughed.

“I’m afraid I hid my deepest feelings so well I forgot where I placed them” he replied bitterly.

“Sherlock”, Mycroft said gently. “Why didn’t you come to me? I told you you could always come to me”.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.

“I was afraid you’d be disappointed I let that happen to me again. I was scared you might even hold me responsible for not fighting him harder” he said and refused to meet his brother’s eyes when Mycroft sighed.

“That’s not your fault either. It’s my behavior that drove you to go through all that alone. I apologize again and I promise you that I’d never think of you as a disappointment. You’ve been fighting all your life, Sherlock”.

“I know now. I was stupid. I suppose I should have known better. It’s just that… There have been monsters in my head for so long now, that when they are not there anymore, I feel the need to create them” he said softly. “Myc, what should I do about John? I feel lost”.

“Do you love him?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock nodded.

“More than anything else. But he doesn’t love me back. My mind tells me to forget him but my heart screams to run to him even though he doesn’t want me” he said and felt tears clouding his vision.

“Sherlock, one lesson I never bothered to teach you is that when the brain is shattered, we are left with all that matters.You should always let it rule your head. That’s your heart, little brother”.

“I really I feel like I’m going crazy” Sherlock whined.

"That’s why love is madness. It’s too easy to lose your mind when you lose your heart" Mycroft smiled. “I think you were in love with him from day one, and he was in love with you and it was like a goddamn tragedy, because you looked at him and saw the stars, and he looked at you and saw the sun. And you both thought the other was just looking at the ground”.

“When I first saw him, I asked him “Afghanistan or Iraq?” But honestly, I wanted to say something else. Just like before I jumped. And just before his wedding. I remember I opened my mouth and almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out completely differently if I had. But I never did” his sighed. “And it hurts so much to want someone you can’t have”.

“But you can have him. You almost did have him but something happened. And I’m going to find out what, mark my words”.

“Thank you. For saving me, I mean. I don’t think I really want to die” Sherlock said softly and Mycroft smiled again.

“You need to top setting yourself on fire just to see who will stay to watch you burn”. 

“Well I don’t think I wanted to kill myself. I mean how can you kill yourself when you’re already dead, right?”

“You’re not dead” Mycroft insisted.

“There are 3 easy ways to die: puff a cigarette daily. You’ll die 10 years early. Drink alcohol daily. You’ll die 20 years early. LOVE someone who doesn’t love you back. You’ll die daily” Sherlock yawned.

“Rest, Sherlock. Go back to sleep”.

Sherlock looked at him.

“If I sleep, will you be here when I wake up?”

Mycroft smiled and bent to kiss Sherlock’s forehead.

“I promise” he said and watched his brother closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep. “Sleep, brother dear, you have nothing to worry about anymore. Now I’m taking over” he said and it sounded as much as a promise as a threat. A threat to those who had messed with his brother and were now his responsibility and pleasure to take revenge.  He would deal with the person who had brought Garth back and had dared to cause such great pain to his brother. Of course if there was one thing Mycroft was good at was to eliminate his brother’s causes of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired for this chapter by another fiction but unfortunately I can't remember the title :( Anyway, next chapter will be all about Sherlock & John... oh and let's not forget Mary... what's she up to next? Nothing good of course... Also I'm thinking about bringing Molly back to the story in a couple of chapters ;) As always comments are welcomed, I'm sorry for the mistakes!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know I'm the worst person ever for leaving you so long without a chapter, but I'm on holidays with my family and I don't have internet! So here's the next chapter - sorry for the delay again! - and I'm very pleased how it turned out. It's all about Sherlock and John and how they react when they see each other again! Enjoy!

John was terrified to say the least. He had always had thought about Mycroft as a man who undoubtedly cared for his little brother but was more like a dog who barked but didn’t bite. Now again, as the older man sat before him watching him like a mother hawk ready to attack him, he had started to have second thoughts. Mycroft was sitting in the doctor’s office, right opposite from him, looking at him like he was ready to attack and break his neck any second now. After Sherlock had fallen asleep, the older man had found Greg and John outside of the room and had demanded to talk to the doctor in private. Lestrade had shot him a warning look but had complied nevertheless and was now sitting with Sherlock. John and Mycroft had come to the doctor’s office – God knows how Mycroft had access to that – so that they could be alone and uninterrupted.

John was entirely uncomfortable but didn’t dare to say a word. According to Greg, he was lucky that the British government hadn’t already prepared his disappearance, though he imagined he had already planned his murder in his head. Now all John could do was wait for the tantrum that was about to come and then explain to Mycroft everything he had explained to Greg. Then he could just pray to God that the man would believe him and wouldn’t cause him any more problems with Sherlock. He dreaded the thought that he might want to keep him away from Sherlock as there was no guarantee that the younger man wouldn’t try to hurt himself again and John would never allow that to happen. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He was silently thanking every deity he could think of that Sherlock was alive and was going to be alright, he didn’t want to risk it again. Life rarely gave second chances and John wasn’t going to waste his.   

Both men were standing in awkward silence, both of them thinking but none of them speaking. John tried to imagine what Mycroft might be thinking of right now but quickly decided it was probably better that he didn’t know. It wouldn’t be anything good, that was certain. Taking a deep breath, John decided to be brave and speak first but he didn’t know how to start. What could he say to initiate the conversation without the other man trying to strangle him? He opened his mouth to speak but Mycroft beat him to it.

“He’s okay. He’s just sleeping” he said without looking John in the eyes and the doctor was grateful.

“Okay” he said and sighed in relief. “Can I see him?” he asked timidly.

“Can you see him?” Mycroft repeated and his voice hitched. “Let me think about it, Dr. Watson. Should I let the man who almost managed to kill my brother, go and see him?” John flinched but Mycroft ignored him and continued. “Should I allow the man who broke my brother’s heart go and visit him now? Should I let you see him?”

John swallowed with great difficulty. He felt weak and he tried to remember that Mycroft was telling the truth. It was his fault and now he had to face the consequences. But boy, did it hurt him…

“I…” he didn’t know what to say.

“No, Dr. Watson. I shouldn’t let you see Sherlock”, John hung his head. “But” Mycroft continued and John looked up. “I will let you see him if only to see the damage you’ve caused. I’ll allow you to go to him only to see what you’ve done to him” he said.

“I know exactly what I’ve done” John said sounding braver than he felt.

“Is that so?” Mycroft asked sarcastically.

“I’m not an idiot, Mycroft, despite what you think of me” John said and watched the other man observing him in amusement. “I know I’ve hurt him. Don’t you think I hurt too? Don’t you think it caused me grave pain to do what I did?”

“It certainly doesn’t look so” Mycroft spat.

“Just because I didn’t try to kill myself, it doesn’t mean I’m not hurting” John gritted his teeth and immediately regretted what he had just said.

“You moronic man, why did Sherlock try to kill himself? It’s all because of you. Don’t you think I don’t know what’s happened? If you hadn’t given him all these promises, this wouldn’t have happened now. It’s your fault for giving him false hopes and dreams only to crash them with such cruelty that even I feel repulsed. Why did you have to tell him you loved him if you didn’t mean it? I presume he’s told you all about his past and Gareth Walker and yet what did you do? You went and did the exact same thing, only this time it was worse. You promised him you were telling the truth. You held him and probably comforted him and he trusted you. He trusted you like he never expected to trust anyone ever again and then what? Hm? You went and ruined everything by breaking his heart once again. He’s never gonna get over it, his heart can’t be fixed anymore” Mycroft had gotten up and was now shouting. He took a deep breath and sat back down trying to calm his nerves.

“Let me talk to him, explain why I did what I did” John chocked a sob. “I meant every word I ever said to him, you have to believe me. I never meant for this to happen. I love…”

“Don’t” Mycroft snarled. “Don’t you dare say that aloud again. Ever!” he banged his fist on the doctor's desk.   

“It’s the truth” John protested weakly. “If you would only give me a chance to explain” he begged.

“I’m listening” Mycroft growled. John looked at him with hope in his eyes. “Don’t give me that look. As far as I’m concerned you’re done. For me, you don’t deserve a second chance but I’m doing this for Sherlock. Because deep inside I hope you have a bloody good excuse for this mess and that he can forgive you. Not that I like this idea, I told you. For me, you are unworthy of my brother’s affection. But if that makes him better, then by God, I’m prepared to listen”.

John nodded and wiped his eyes.

“Thank you” he breathed. “I know I don’t deserve his love. I myself wonder what he sees in me but it’s how things are, Mycroft. I love him and he loves me too. All these years I’ve always loved him but I was blind. Or better yet, I was a coward. I didn’t let myself hope that he could ever feel anything for me. He’s always said that he was married to his work and I respected that. It pained me but I respected that. And then it was me. I never dared to imagine that I could ever love anyone that wasn’t a woman and yet here I found myself lusting over Sherlock. I tried to deny it, I tried to hide it and… well I never got to admit it to myself or to anyone else”.  

“I can tell” Mycroft said without looking moved. When John looked at him again, he rolled his eyes, much like Sherlock used to do. “Oh, please, it was a drama. It appeared, everyone could tell except you two” he sighed in irritation. “Perhaps if you two had come to terms with your feelings and talked like grown ups, none of this would have happened”

“Probably” John admitted. “But I don’t blame either of us. You know Sherlock, it would be impossible for me to understand how Sherlock felt unless he chose to tell me. And I don’t blame him of course. With the past he has and going by my comments of not being gay, I can imagine why he never told me anything. And then there was Moriarty and he jumped off a bloody building to save me and then he spent two years dismantling Moriarty’s network and kept me in the dark. I’m aware that he did it to protect me but… when he came back, it was just too late” he said sadly.

“That is a very sad story, indeed” Mycroft rolled his eyes again. “But it doesn’t explain why you left him”.

“I didn’t want to” John exploded. “Mary… She said…” he took a deep breath. “Mary’s pregnant”.

Mycroft remained as still as a statue. For a second John wondered if he had stopped breathing as well but then the older man blinked and stared at him with something akin anger in his eyes.

“I see” he said.

“You do?” John wasn’t entirely sure Mycroft had understood.

“Did you know when you told Sherlock you loved him?” he asked carefully.

“No” John replied immediately. “I mean yes” he closed his eyes.

“Yes or no?” Mycroft was getting impatient.

“Yes” he admitted his defeat. This conversation wasn’t going at all how he had wanted it.    

“You knew that your wife was pregnant and yet you still confessed your love to Sherlock. Why would you do that?”

“Because it was the truth” John hadn’t realized he was tingling with anxiety. “I love him, I always have and I always will. I told him because he needed to hear it, he needed to know. Do you know what state he was in when he went to Greg? Do you know how he was when I found him? He told me first. He told me that he loved me and Jesus Christ Mycroft it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That moment was the happiest in my entire life and I couldn’t not tell him that I loved him back”.

“Well and that worked perfectly. If you told him that, if you promised him you would be together then why did you leave him for your wife and child? You knew about the baby before so why doing all this?”

“I was going to leave Mary. I wanted to leave and go back to Baker Street with Sherlock. I asked her for a divorce and then she threatened me that if I left her, she would leave and I would never see my child. I know I shouldn’t have done that but I panicked. This child is completely innocent and I don’t want it to grow up without a father, especially after I grew up with a father that wasn’t good at all, I didn’t want that for my child. I couldn’t think clearly. When I talked to Sherlock… it was the worst thing I’ve ever done. His expression of utter betrayal and… God, I felt like dying right then and there and if it wasn’t for the baby, I probably would have…” John was crying now and he didn’t care. He was desperate for a second chance. For him to be with the love of his life but more importantly for Sherlock to be okay and forgive him. “When I was told he was in the hospital, I… I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been more scared in my life and I was an army doctor! I understand that you probably hate me and I don’t blame you. I hate me too for doing this to him. I’m probably worse that Garth but… please let me talk to him if only to ease his suffering” John begged again.

Mycroft didn’t speak. He observed the doctor carefully with a cold expression on his face. He was thinking. He was trying to determine what to do. Should he believe John and help him? That would mean Sherlock was going to be alright because of course Mycroft wasn’t an idiot. He knew his brother needed John as much as John needed his brother. But then, he would risk his brother getting hurt again and he knew he couldn’t take another blow. It would be his last. Could he take that risk? Did John deserve that? He took a deep breath, he had already made up his mind. There was no other way, he was going to have to risk it.

“You are aware that she has no right to keep your child from you. But I think you should also be aware that she could do that” Mycroft said honestly.

“What?” John croaked.

“She is not who you think she is. She’s not the sweet nurse you think. The woman you met is a fake. Her real name isn’t even Mary Morstan” John was looking at him at lost.

“What… what are you talking about?” he whispered.

“I’ve done my research. That’s for another time”.

“What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean? This is my wife, you’re talking about. The mother of my child, the woman for who I left Sherlock… Mycroft, if you don’t start talking, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“That is not something I will discuss here right now. All you need to know is that she’s not as innocent as you seem to think. In fact, I’d say she’s the least innocent. Are you prepared to go against her if that’s what it takes?”

“I don’t…” was at lost. “I don’t understand”.

“John, what would you do to be with my brother?” Mycroft asked.

“Anything” John replied immediately.

“Very well then. I’ll talk with Greg, you go and see him. But I warn you, if he doesn’t want to talk to you, you’ll be gone. Is that understood?”

“Yes” John gasped.

“I don’t mean now” John looked at him. “If he doesn’t want you anymore, you’ll leave” Mycroft was deadly serious.

“Yes. Of course” John repeated and tried to swallow. He would. If Sherlock didn’t want him anymore, he would leave him alone and never bother him again. He would go back to Mary and their child and live the rest of his life miserable just how he deserved.

“Off you go then” Mycroft allowed himself a small smile as the doctor literally bolded from the office and ran to his brother’s room. It was time to get to work.

John was at Sherlock’s room in seconds. He knocked the door lightly and let himself in. Greg smiled at him when he saw him. He was sitting at a chair right next to Sherlock’s hospital bed and he now got up.

“Well, seeing that you’re still in one piece, I take it went rather well” he joked.

John shook his head and stifled a laugh.

“I suppose so” he said.

“You know we will help you, right?” Greg asked.

“Thank you” was all John could say as he stared at the taller man. Lestrade approached him and patted his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be outside with Myc, if you need anything” he said and left the room, closing the door behind him.

John took a deep breath and he turned to inspect Sherlock for the first time. He gasped at the sight in front of him. Sherlock was too pale, too fragile to look at and not moving at all.  His skinny frame suddenly looked very delicate, like it was made of porcelain. It seemed that if you touched him, he would break to a thousand pieces. John did not like this one bit. This man was supposed to be young, healthy, happy, living his life out to the fullest, not dying in the prime of his youth because of him. He had done this to Sherlock and that made him want to rip his heart out of his chest and give it to Sherlock so he could be the one to live instead of him.  John’s gaze returned to his love, whose normally angelic features were stained by a layer of sweat. He was waking up. Sherlock groaned and opened his eyes slowly. John was by his side immediately, one hand holding Sherlock’s and the other gently stroking his forehead, pushing the curls away from his eyes. 

“Hey there, angel” John whispered and felt tears in his eyes.

Sherlock blinked and took a deep breath trying to focus on what was happening around him. All he could remember was Mycroft speaking and then holding him and it had felt rather nice. Now he had no idea who was with him or how long he’d been asleep. He froze when he heard that voice. That unmistakable voice that had haunted his dreams but in a good way. The voice that belonged to the man who had caused him the greatest pain and happiness of them all. _John Watson._ Had he come for him? Or maybe this was another dream, just an illusion. John had left him, hadn’t he? So what was going on?

“John” he managed to croak and then he began coughing. His throat was extremely sore. He looked like a child in the hospital bed. His black curls now stuck out in all directions and his face was pale and wan. Now that John observed him closer, he noted that the man had easily lost ten pounds ever since he came back from his honeymoon. Ten pounds he couldn’t afford to lose. At that moment, Sherlock had a haunted look in his blurry blue eyes.   

His voice was like a soothing balm on John’s heart, healing the pain and the thoughts of him being dead. His chest ached with the desire to hold Sherlock and kiss him but he held back, instead and didn’t touch the detective other than keeping his hand on the pale one.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m right here” John sat to the chair that was next to the bed and started stroking Sherlock’s hair. With the other hand, he gently cupped the detective’s cheek and was delighted when the brunette leaned into his touch. Sherlock didn’t hate him, he didn’t want him to leave and John felt like crying from happiness. Did this mean he was giving him a second chance? Or was he just sedated and didn’t know exactly what was happening?

“Why?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Why what, love?” John dared to say.

“Why are you here?” he asked again and John stiffened in his seat.

“Don’t you want me here?” he asked with tears in his eyes.

Sherlock didn’t reply.

“I came to see you” John prompted.

“Did you think that you’d come here to see me and I’d welcome you and suddenly everything would be magically better?” John flinched as though someone had hit him.

“Can’t blame me for trying?”

“I guess not” Sherlock laughed bitterly.

“I… lo…”

“Don’t say it” Sherlock whispered brokenly and shut his eyes. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it”.

“I do! I mean it” John protested.

“I don’t trust you anymore. How do I know that you won’t change your mind and leave me again the next time things get hard, John? I don’t think I could survive that again. I don’t think I’d want to”.

“I understand… Should I leave?”

“No!” the answer came far too quickly and Sherlock grasped John’s hand tight before he realized what he was doing. _Brilliant, go and humiliate yourself a little more._ _I’ve sunk to a new low_ _,_ Sherlock wants to say.

“It’s okay” John says and for some reason Sherlock believes him and relaxes. “I’m not leaving, I promise. I will stay right here” he started rubbing Sherlock’s knuckles with his hand.

“But you already left” Sherlock accused childishly.

“I’m sorry” John said slowly. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock. I love you so much” he bent and kissed Sherlock’s hand lightly and then cradled it as if it were a newborn kitten. 

“I don’t understand” the brunette said.

“I love you” John repeated simply. “I’ll always love you Sherlock”, he stared at the brunette as the beautiful face crumpled inward as he dissolved into chocked sobs. His hands flew up to cover his mouth, teeth biting into flesh to contain the sounds escaping. Terrified, John rushed to hug him. “Sherlock… please… don’t cry. Please don’t” his hands were batted away.

“How?” Sherlock sobbed. “How can you stand here and say ‘hi’ like you didn’t leave me? You left me, John! I was alone and I trusted you and… you left me!”

John reeled back, dread filling his stomach.

“I know. It was the biggest mistake of my life”.

“I don’t believe you” Sherlock spat, tears still flowing. “I lost you… and then I lost everything. I couldn’t even get my own death right. Me! Of all people…”

John’s eyes filled with tears.

 “I never meant for you to… I’m so sorry, Sherlock. But I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. I had to leave you. I lied to you. Mary threatened me when I asked for a divorce. She blackmailed me” he said quickly.

“What?” Sherlock asked still not understanding.

“The day I went to my house, remember? I asked a divorce. She didn’t accept it though. She threatened me and I panicked. I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to leave you. I didn’t think it would cost you so much. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I get that. I was a selfish idiot and I don’t deserve you but please, Sherlock understand” John begged.

Sherlock looked deeply into John’s blue eyes and he knew that the concern and pain he could see were sincere. He stared stonily at the doctor and took a deep breath and blinked.  

“I understand” he said quietly and John wept and kissed his hand again.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, love” he bent to kiss Sherlock’s temple. “So… you still want… I mean, you know… do you still love me?” he had to ask. The answer might kill him but he had to know. He wouldn’t blame Sherlock if he said no.

“John…” the detective lifted his hand and grabbed John’s chin. “Look at me”. The doctor looked deep into the pale blue eyes. “You were a gift, John. The best gift I ever received” he said honestly. “When you left me, it nearly killed me”.

“I’m sorry” John sobbed. “I know it doesn’t make any difference and even if one day you forgive me, I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you. You could have died for Christ’s sake. How can you stand being anywhere near me?”

Sherlock wiped John’s eyes and looked sternly at him.

“John, you could break my heart into a million tiny little pieces, and I’d still pick them up and put them back in your hands” he said gently.

John looked at him in awe. The man who claimed to be a sociopath, who people thought was incapable of sentiment was now giving John all the love in the world. A love that was much more that anyone could feel, a love that was so much more than John felt he deserved.

“You once told me that you didn’t deserve me but that’s not true” he said. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, Sherlock. You’re… you’re perfect. You’re everything and I’m… I’m nothing”.

“You are everything to me” Sherlock protested weakly.

“Sherlock, my beloved Sherlock, I swear that I’ll never leave you again. I will fight before any harm come to you and I will die before I hurt you again. I promise I will love you like it’s the only thing I've done correctly” John vowed and brought his lips to the detective’s. His lips were hot and very soft and John let his eyes drifted shut, and he was dimly aware of Sherlock making a tiny sound deep in his throat.   

They kissed carefully. John was full of tenderness and he treated Sherlock as if he were a porcelain doll that could break at any moment if you weren’t careful with him. Because no matter how cruel he seemed to be, John knew that Sherlock’s heart was just as fragile as a porcelain doll. And he would take care of it this time no matter what. John moved his lips carefully increasing the pressure of his kiss. Sherlock’s lips opened of their own accord and he moaned in pleasure as John’s tongue touched his. Sherlock let John lead, trusting him completely. The doctor tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss more. John swept his tongue across Sherlock’s touching and tasting him and the detective shivered in response. They felt as if they were kissing for the first time. The detective angled his head in order to let John in even deeper. The doctor groaned, loving his detective’s response, the sound escaping into Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock explored the doctor’s mouth carefully, his tongue a bit hesitant. John growled and he grasped Sherlock firmly, fingers buried in those soft curls while he supported Sherlock’s head slowly pulling him to a seating position and pressing their bodies together. He wanted more, much more. He wanted Sherlock right then and there. Sherlock’s mouth was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt and the detective was in his own heaven as the doctor was kissing him with great passion. As all of John’s senses were heightened, he used them to enjoy the man in his arms. Everything felt incredible and none of them wanted it to end but it had to.

Sherlock broke the kiss, pulling back to take a much needed breath, panting for air. His lips were red and swollen his eyes hooded, and his face flushed by color. John was astounded at the response he'd been given by his kiss and what it had done to him in return. Sherlock was smiling at him sweetly now and was looking at him with adoration and John's heart swelled. He rested his forehead on the other man’s and kept panting.

“You know I’ve never been kissed like that before” Sherlock said quietly. “Garth never kissed me like that, not even in the past”.

John wanted to be mad at the man who had mistreated this gorgeous creature in front of him. He wanted to feel disgust and anger towards Garth for not showing Sherlock what _real_ love was like. But he didn’t. He felt satisfaction that had given Sherlock his first real tongue tangling kiss and he smiled a smile that matched the detective's. At least, if nothing else, he was first really kissed by someone who loved him. _Who, God help me, loved him first_ , John thought. Sherlock didn’t know what love was but John was going to teach him now. It wasn’t too late. They were going to start all over and John was unbelievably happy that he would be the one to show Sherlock. Garth didn’t count, he was an asshole. John would be Sherlock’s first love. The first one to actually kiss him and make love to him. His first and his last.

“I love you” he said to Sherlock and he was thrilled at how easily he could say it now. How wonderful it felt to say it.

“I love you too” Sherlock whispered. “Lay down with me” he said and reached for John again.  

“You sure you’re okay?” John asked. He knew that Sherlock wasn’t injured or anything but still, he wasn’t sure about his stomach. His hand pushed away a curl from his eyes and Sherlock pouted when he pulled away. Sherlock wanted his doctor with him, he needed him to be near if only to reassure himself that this wasn’t a dream that he would wake up from.

“I’m fine. Please?” he pleaded and pulled on the best puppy dog eyes he could muster and John sighed in defeat.

The doctor toed off his shoes and climbed up on the bed. Thankfully this bed was big enough and John was able to fit up on the mattress with Sherlock. John lay along his side and very carefully let Sherlock snuggle to his right side. Sherlock hummed in approval when he felt John kissing his cheek. The detective curled on John’s chest and placed his head on John’s heart and let the other man stroke his hair gently. John had never wanted, never needed anyone as much as he did Sherlock. Just the heat of the long body pressed to his, swept all the heartache and sorrow away, grief and fear falling to ash.

"Do you have something... you believe in so passionately it lives in your heart, your bones?" John asked and pulled Sherlock so he was lying mostly on top of him.

“I believe in you” Sherlock replied immediately.

“I believe in Sherlock Holmes” John said and Sherlock chuckled. The doctor relished the sound. “Sherlock” John wanted nothing more than to take this man right on this hospital bed. To do things to him that would erase every tear, pain and heartbreak from his soul. “I want you”.

“You have me” Sherlock said and lifted his head from where it rested on John’s chest to kiss the doctor. “All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart. I can feel that with you” he said softly.

“Me too” John replied. “I don’t deserve you. How can you still want me?” he heard as Sherlock sighed.

“Love is about holding on, even when you feel like letting go” the detective murmured and buried his head on John’s jumper. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course it is” John said gently and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head resting with him.

“Can I tell you something but you mustn’t laugh” Sherlock said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I never laugh” John said playfully.

“John, I’m serious”.

“Okay, fine, you can tell me”.

“When I was away… these two years, I would sit in front of maps and measure with my fingertips the distance between us. In this space, I would tell the ocean to make itself smaller, we argue. I would tell it ‘please, I am in love’, and it would allow me to palm it in my hand and hold it tightly there. I would wish the roads away. I would grab the forests by the handful and plant them elsewhere, plant them in our backyard ten years from now. Like this, I would slowly make the spaces between us smaller until I could walk across them. Then I would take the ground by its edges and pull it until it’s gathered like a rug beneath my feet. I would bundle the sky under my arms and wouldn’t mind that the clouds are raining on my feet. I could walk the inches to your door and knock the wood and see you standing there in all your shocked silence. The question of the sky and the ground and the oceans all piled up around me. I would then say ‘hello, look, it’s me and I love you. I’ve brought the entire earth for you.’”

John couldn’t speak. He had nothing to say. All he could do was stay there and hold Sherlock closer to him, praying that the other man would understand his love because there was no way he could express it the way the detective did. Sherlock was a poet, a writer, a romanticist and no matter what he said, John appreciated it. He wanted to crawl inside Sherlock and hold his heart forever. He wanted to tell him how important he was, how needed. But instead he just stroked his dark curls.

“Sherlock, you know I’ve got trust issues. But I do know when I love someone and I’ve loved you ever since I can remember” he said honestly and felt Sherlock smiling in his chest.

“And I didn’t believe in love at first sight. I still don’t. But I do believe in seeing someone from across the room and knowing instantly that they’re going to matter to you. That’s what I felt when I first saw you at Bart’s”.

“We should thank Mike, by the way. Let’s not forget he’s the reason we met” John said and Sherlock grinned.

“I’ll build him a statue” he joked.

“We should” John insisted and then they remained silent until Sherlock spoke again.

“I’m awfully difficult, John. But I can promise you, I’m going to be worth it”.

John smiled affectionately.

“That, my darling, I will not argue with” he said. “Mycroft and Greg are going to help us. They’ll take care of my divorce. And then we’ll be together but until then, love, we have to keep it a secret”.

Sherlock lifted his head to look into John’s eyes.

“Please, Sherlock. I don’t wanna leave you ever again but I won’t be able to get a divorce otherwise if only from Mary’s egoism. We will be together but it’ll be a secret, she can’t know. I’ll have to be with her too… it will only be for a little while. Please” John begged Sherlock cupping his face and the brunette sighed.

“I don’t like it. But I understand. Okay, we’ll be careful”.

John beamed at him and kissed him passionately. Sherlock felt lost in the kiss and he forgot his worries. They remained tangled for a couple of minutes until John’s breath was even and he fell asleep. Sherlock was too tired to stay awake and he felt incredibly content to be bothered. He closed his eyes and listened to his doctor’s breaths. He tried to sleep but something was bothering him. Something was occupying his mind and wouldn’t leave him at easy but he couldn’t figure out what. And then he got it. John had said that Mary had threatened and blackmailed him… but how? What could she possibly have told him to make him panic and dump him? He would ask John tomorrow, for now things were uncharacteristically perfect for Sherlock to disturb the sleeping man next to him. He could wait until tomorrow. Besides, now they were together and John had said that he didn’t want Mary anymore so it was going to be okay. They’d take a divorce and then she’d leave them alone once and for all. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

With these thoughts in his mind, Sherlock finally let a smile take over his face and closed his eyes again, snuggling closer to John. He let his mind drift and he was asleep in no time, having only pleasant dreams with him and John in Baker Street where they were together and alone. With no one to disturb their peace and quiet. Because in his dreams their happiness was guaranteed.    

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, that was rather happy, I think... But oh, John still didn't tell Sherlock about Mary's pregnancy... that's not so good now is it? Anyway, I can't promise when I'll update the next chapter because like I said I have no internet but I promise I'll do my best! Until then, I would like to thank whoever is still reading my story and put up with me! Comment if you like and make sure you enjoy the Johnlock that's about to come! ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry for the delay but I'm still without wifi! LOL this chapter is all about Johnlock as they FINALLY become one. If you don't like M/M sex, don't read! Johnlockians... Enjoy! :)

 Sherlock was getting extremely impatient now. He had waited the entire day just like his brother had asked him and now he just wanted to be back to his home alone with John. But instead he was still at the hospital with his infuriating overprotective brother trying to talk to him and make sure he doesn’t get hurt again. It wasn’t that he wasn’t worried about that himself, of course he was. John had left him once and even if he had a good reason there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t do it again, especially since the reason still existed. Mary. There was no telling what the woman would do to keep her husband. Sherlock still didn’t know what Mary had blackmailed John with but that was something he intended to ask John himself when they would finally be alone in their flat.

“Do you understand, Sherlock?” Mycroft was asking and the younger man was sighing, physically restraining himself from running away and walk all the way to Baker Street. 

“Yes, yes, I understand” he insisted. “But you need to understand too that there’s nothing that’s going to keep me and John apart”.

“That didn’t seem to be the case about three days ago” Mycroft scowled.

“I know. Look you know he didn’t want to leave me, he was forced by Mary. He’s not gonna do it again” Sherlock wished he could feel as certain as he sounded.

“I never said he wanted to. But he did it. And as you may forget, Mary is still here and she’s still John’s wife. Whatever the reason she still wants to be with him even though she knows he loves you, she can do anything again to make him choose. And you know he’ll choose her, Sherlock. But I’m not so sure that you’ll cope” he said sadly and Sherlock stared at him.

“Why on earth would he choose her? Is it because of the blackmailing? I’m sure that John and I can figure something out. Whatever this is, it can’t be so bad”.

Mycroft looked at him with wide eyes.

“He… uhm, he didn’t tell you?” he asked carefully and the brunet shook his head.

“No. But he will tell me today. And then we’ll figure something out. Besides, she won’t do anything. John and I are going to keep a low profile. We’ll keep it a secret for now until we figure out what to do. Now are we done here because I really wanna go back home” Sherlock complained and Mycroft sighed.

“Yes. You and that doctor of yours can leave. But I’ll say it once again Sherlock, be careful. There’s something you don’t know and when you eventually find out, I fear for your reaction. Promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t try anything… drastic” he finished with a bit of concern apparent in his voice.

“I promise I won’t try to commit a suicide again” Sherlock growled. “It was a stupid thing to do and I won’t be doing it again”, Mycroft eyed his younger brother. “You have my word, okay? If anything bad happens and I feel like I can’t take it anymore, I’ll call Lestrade”.

The older man looked relieved at the mention of his lover and he immediately felt better knowing that Sherlock trusted the man enough to ask for his help. And of course Mycroft trusted Greg enough to take care of his brother. In fact, if he ever had to trust anyone with Sherlock, it would be Greg without a second though. Besides the detective inspector had saved the young detective far too many times to let him down now.

“There’s something else I need to tell you though. I have to warn you. Beware of Mary. She’s not what she looks like”.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sherlock’s attention was fully on his brother now.

“I cannot say anything until I’m sure. But be careful, Sherlock. Do not trust this woman. She’s bad news. I think she’s dangerous”.

Sherlock remained quiet thinking about what his brother told him. How could Mary be dangerous? Well she certainly was a danger to his and John’s happiness since she was married to the man he loved, but that was not what Mycroft had meant. Although he couldn’t think of anything now and the harder he tried, the more he could feel a headache coming. He was still weak and his brain wasn’t working completely again with all the sedatives. He’d think about it again later.

“Okay. Consider me noted. I’ll find out more about her” he said.    

“Very well” Mycroft said finally. “Since you gave me your word that you’ll contact Greg if you need any help, I’ll let you go now but I’ll keep an eye on you”.

“I’m sure you will” Sherlock smirked and got out of the chair grabbing the bag with his belongings.

“Take care, little brother” Mcroft said as he watched Sherlock getting out of room. The younger man paused and turned around for a second.

“Thank him for me, would you?” he said and left.

Mycroft sighed and grabbed his phone calling Greg immediately.

“What’s the matter?” the masculine voice came a bit startled.

“Nothing is the matter” Mycroft replied. “I just want to inform you that Sherlock’s left the hospital with John and he’s going home”.

“Well that’s good, right? It’s great news” Greg said.

“Is it?” Mycroft sighed again.

“What do you mean?”

“I still worry. John hasn’t told Sherlock about the baby. What’s he gonna do when he find out? He said they were going to talk today but… I’m afraid he’ll crack again. He promised me that if things got to be too much for him to handle, he’d call you. Could you keep an eye on him?”

“Of course I will” Greg answered immediately. “I’ll give him a call later tonight, see how he does”.

“Thank you, Gregory. Also he asked me to thank you for saving his life. Again” there was bitterness in his voice as he said that.

“There’s no need to thank me, I’m glad I could save him this time” the detective inspector sighed. “We’ve got a lot of work to do here, I’ll give him a case tomorrow. Keep his mind occupied”.        

“Thank you” Mycroft breathed, the relief growing.

“There was something else I wanted to ask you. What’s happened to that asshole, Garth? John told me that Sherlock was going to talk to him and I haven’t heard anything about him since. Think he left?” Greg asked curiously.

“There is no way I’m going to let him get away with what he’s done to Sherlock even if he has left London. I’ll go after him and he’ll pay, mark my words. For now I worry more about Mary” he told the inspector.

“Yeah, we better start thinking about ways to stop her from leaving with the baby. Do you actually think she’ll do that?” Greg asked worriedly.

“I do not know” the older Holmes said. “I still have my doubts about this baby though”.

“You mean she’s not really pregnant?” Greg asked.

“I think she is, I’ve seen her stomach and it appears as she is with child. But I am not so sure that it’s John’s” he stopped. “Of course I cannot be sure yet but I intend to find out. You do realize that it’s going to be incredibly inconvenient for all of us, most of all Sherlock, if the baby is indeed John’s”.

“Yeah” Greg paused. “I don’t know what to say anymore. Just tell me if you need my help”.

“Thank you” Mycroft said again.

“Stop thanking me!” the other man laughed.

“Then I shall stop saying it and start showing it don’t you think? When you’ve finished with your job, come over to my house, I have something planned”.

“I like where this is going” Mycroft could practically hear Greg smirking and he smiled to.

“Yes well, I’ll be waiting” he said and hung up.

Meanwhile Sherlock exited the hospital with the bag in his hand and immediately spotted John waiting for him with a cab a few feet away. He smiled at him and the doctor beamed as the detective approached him. Once he was besides the blonde man, John wrapped his arms around him tightly and crushed him to his chest. Sherlock chuckled happily and returned the hug, resting his head on top of John’s and breathing the man in.

“So, you ready to go home?” John asked.

“More than ever” Sherlock replied and together they got into the cab.

Once they arrived at the flat, Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them at the front door. She didn’t know that Sherlock had tried to kill himself but she did know that he was in the hospital. So of course she would be waiting for them. But it wasn’t an unpleasant sight. Once Sherlock saw her at the door, he smiled contentedly. It reminded him of home and Mrs. Hudson was one person he didn’t mind letting take care of him. She was his landlady and occasionally housekeeper, after all.

The detective allowed the old woman to hug him and he hugged her back patting her back to reassure her that he was fine.

“I was so worried when John told me that you were in the hospital. I didn’t know what had happened” she said to him like a mother scolding her child.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Hudson” Sherlock quickly apologized. “There was a case and… well something went wrong but I’m alright now”.

John had to bite his lip in order to keep himself from laughing. Mrs. Hudson looked indeed like a mother ready to punish her son for making her worry over his health but she didn’t. Instead she smiled and let them both in, asking if they were hungry. Sherlock replied that they would order some take out and demanded to be left alone with John for the rest of the day because they were going to have a serious conversation. Mrs. Hudson nodded smiling and winked at John meaningful as he passed her. This time he didn’t try to correct her.  

Once inside the flat, John barely had time to close the door behind him before Sherlock was on him. Surprised, the doctor caught Sherlock’s hips and kissed him hard. The detective was demanding and pressed his body tighter against John’s. John might be shorter but his army training had left him with more muscles and he could easily manage the slender man who was now trying to swallow him. He smiled and kept snogging Sherlock and without ever realizing it, they began tearing each other’s clothes until they couldn’t breathe and had to pull away.

“Wow, slow down” John panted and took deep breaths.

“No, I don’t wanna wait. I’ve waited long enough” Sherlock complained and attacked John’s mouth again.

John kissed him back but pushed him gently after a little while.

“Aren’t we gonna talk? I thought we were going to have a serious conversation” he chuckled at the desperation he could see in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Yes, yes. We’ll talk later. Kiss me now”.

John couldn’t help but laugh. Demanding and bossy he sounded just like the good old Sherlock. He shook his head and obeyed his detective as he knew he always would. John didn’t waste any time and he pressed his body against Sherlock’s and kissed him passionately as he began stripping him. Sherlock was whimpering and moaning as John trailed hot and wet kisses down his chest. He couldn’t help it as soon as he saw all that milky white flesh, he just had to mark it. John could only imagine how wonderfully easily it would bruise.

John wanted to take things slow, it was their first time after all. It was Sherlock’s first time to make love after a lot of pain. But the detective was having none of it. Sherlock pushed John away and stripped down to his pants relatively fast and by the time John was barely getting his shirt off he has to stop and stare at the beauty before him. The sight of that bare body all pale and muscled in all the right places would never get old and it never seemed to be enough either. It wasn’t just the sight of Sherlock that got John going but how he looked at him. But the doctor stopped as he saw the way Sherlock held himself. His stance wasn’t confident like he was used to and unashamed. Suddenly the tall man looked rather insecure and John didn’t like it.

Sherlock was left dumbfounded when John picked him up in his arms and sat down to his chair, setting him in his lap. Their bare torsos were pressed against each other, much like any other encounter between them, but this was different. John cupped Sherlock's face with both of his hands and pulls him forward, kissing Sherlock sweetly on those perfect lips without hesitation. And John thought that, yes, this does feel right, he just needed to prove it to Sherlock as well.

With Sherlock’s arms around him, John feels right for the first time since he can remember.  He feels alive, and happy, and  _worth_  something.  For so long, he has felt like he has been fading into nothing, and now Sherlock has come into his life, moving like a storm, like an ocean, like a wildfire—something unstoppable and forceful and wholly larger than John, magnificent and marvellous and wondrous.  Something that John can’t fight and John can’t run from.  And suddenly John doesn’t feel like he is fading anymore.  Sherlock has brought him back, Sherlock has made sense of John’s pitiful, meagre existence.  Sherlock has given him something to hope for again, something to look forward to.  Sherlock has given him something to crave.

“I want you, Sherlock,” John told him.  John would tell him as many times as Sherlock wants him to.  “I need you. God, I love you. I won’t be able to live my life without you.  It’d be dull and empty if you’re not here with me.  I’ll keep you here with me, always,” he whispered into the crown of Sherlock’s dark head. After all these years of fighting his feelings, he acknowledges that he has wanted Sherlock for so long; he has wanted to hold him just like this, and kiss him, and keep him.  John has wanted Sherlock in ways he has barely allowed himself to think about before now, ways that feel simultaneously wrong and so, so right.

“God John, I love you” Sherlock whispered and was surprised to see how right it felt to say this.

“Will you let me see you?” John asked and kept peppering Sherlock’s neck with kisses. This long swanlike neck he loved so much.   

Sherlock released a frantic cry and arched his back.

“What… what do you mean?” he paned.

John stopped his ministrations and pulled back watching Sherlock in his lap. The younger man squirmed uncomfortably and tried to cover his nudity with his hands but John slapped them away.

“No, no. Let me see you, please. Don’t ever be ashamed of your body. God, you’re so beautiful, don’t you know that?”

He observed Sherlock’s body for the first time and he understood. Sherlock wasn’t trying to cover his nakedness, he was trying to hide the fading bruises. John felt anger at the man who had caused them but soon he shook his head and bent down to kiss and lick Sherlock’s flesh. It was magnificently pale, flushed a glowing pink now in arousal, and he was too skinny for John’s liking.  The man was incredibly thin with his ribs prominent and he bones of his hips jut out alarmingly on either side of his pelvis, framing his groin peculiarly. Even though the doctor in John knew that Sherlock wasn’t unhealthily underweight yet, John still felt the need to feed him up. But it was an amazing body nevertheless, all lean muscle with a few birth marks that John had to taste later. His body looked like it was made for marble and the sight sent a delicious, possessive shiver through John and he felt the sudden need to stake his claim on Sherlock’s skin, brand it as his own, be the last one to ever mark and mar its unblemished perfection. 

“Gorgeous” John growled. “Absolutely gorgeous”.

“John” Sherlock whimpered. “Bedroom”.

And the soldier obeyed. He picked Sherlock up in his arms again, scowling a bit at how light the man was and carried him to Sherlock’s bedroom. They kiss again but this time is slow and tender, their tongues fighting for dominance until Sherlock moans and lets John win, allowing him to take over completely, surrendering himself to the doctor. John stopped for a second and looked at Sherlock who was now panting, his pupils blown wild, who whined loudly and it was all the consent John needed to hear as he laid Sherlock down gently against the mattress. And while it was something entirely new, John had to say that Sherlock looked even more beautiful sprawled out beneath him now than he ever had, simply because he was allowed to be more intimate.

John immediately stripped down until he was naked too and crawled on top of Sherlock.

“Can I touch you?” Sherlock asked breathless. “I wanna know what you feel like”.

“Yes. Oh God, Sherlock, yes” John growled. He groaned out as he lifts his head to catch Sherlock’s lips in a kiss. “Fuck, touch me!”

Sherlock’s long and lean hand wrapped around John’s cock and the older man John couldn’t help the way his hips thrust up into Sherlock’s hand as the detective took John’s thick cock in his hand for the first time.. He moaned loudly and apparently Sherlock wasn’t as safety-conscious as John wasa and so he letting now their cocks slide together slickly every now and then, precome dragging all over the other’s shaft as they continue to writhe against each other.  John couldn’t really be arsed to care anymore.

It was amazing.  John couldn’t remember the last time he had felt someone’s hand on him that wasn’t his own, but he was positive that it had never felt this good before.  John moaned louder, shamelessly, as Sherlock let out a little surprised gasp and stroked John faster.

“You’re huge,” Sherlock whispered, and John has to remind himself that Sherlock had probably been hurt by large penis in the past. He was indeed a size bigger that Sherlock. He looked down the length of his body to see Sherlock’s fingers squeeze his prick right underneath the crown of his head, where it is thickest before it tapered down again towards the base of his groin. 

 “Will it…hurt?” Sherlock asked as he releases his grip and rubbed his fingers up and down John’s shaft, too loose to give John any sort of release but still so, so good.  “When you finally take me?”  He sounded a little frightened and John fought back the cloudy haze of his arousal to reassure Sherlock.  John didn’t want the man to ever be scared of anything that they do together.

“No, love. It won’t hurt” he soothed him. “I’d never hurt you. I wanna make it good for you. You’ll never hurt with me. You’ll love it”.

Sherlock smiled at that and resumed his slow strokes along John’s cock.  The pressure is steady and the movements are completely uniform, as if Sherlock was unsure of how he should be touching John, but the man doesn’t care.  Just the feel of Sherlock’s warm skin on his prick alone would always be enough to get him off.  He knew that there wouldn’t be a problem in achieving orgasm.

“God, John, take me. I want you to take me now” Sherlock whined.

John kissed him again and this time he pulled away causing Sherlock to cry out in protest. He searched in the pockets of his forgotten trousers and pulled out some lubricant and a condom but Sherlock stopped him and shook his head.

“I don’t want it” he said.

“Love…”

“No. I’m clean, I’ve had someone to exam me. I’m clean and I know you are too. I don’t want anything between us”.

“Are you sure?” John asked.

“Yes. Now God, hurry up and do something” Sherlock begged and John smiled as he dropped the condom on the floor and crawled back at bed.

“Should I turn around?” Sherlock asked.

“No. I wanna see your face when I make love to you” John replied simply and kissed him again.

He gasped as the strokes of Sherlock’s hand sped up and John thought he might just die from the bliss of it.

“Spread your legs, darling” the doctor says and Sherlock complies. "Oh, Sherlock," he breathed. "You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it” John said and pressed one finger slicked with lub inside Sherlock’s hole until he felt the muscle loosen up slightly.  

“Second one now, love,” John told him, biting softly at the plump flesh of Sherlock’s hip, making him gasp.  John drew away from him, sitting up once again, and pulled the globes of Sherlock’s arse apart widely so that the opening of his hole stretched a bit and he could wiggle the tip of his index finger in next to the other.  He heard Sherlock whimper at the new addition, but he didn’t ask John to stop so the soldier pushed his index finger in a little deeper, amazed by the tightness and heat of Sherlock’s body around his digits.  Deeper still.  Slightly deeper.

Sherlock groaned in discomfort and John momentarily stilled. He slowly worked the two fingers around the muscle, pulling out and then pushing back in slightly, scissoring them apart and then bringing them back together, sweeping the pads of his fingers along Sherlock’s inner walls in a clockwise motion, feeling all of the man and loosening him up little by little.  When he finally heard what he has been waiting for—small moans and huffs of pleasure instead of soft whimpers of pain—he pushed his fingers in the last little bit. Being a doctor made him find the prostate immediately and he grinned like a fool when Sherlock screamed in pleasure.

“ _Oh God_!” Sherlock shouted, his body bucking.  John chuckled and used his other hand to hold onto Sherlock’s hip, keeping him from pulling away.

“Touch yourself, darling” John whispered his own cock leaking.

“Can’t” Sherlock panted. “I’ll come right away. Please tell me I’m ready” he whimpered.

With his free hand, John rubbed along Sherlock’s torso, across his chest, then dipped down to grasp his cock, still hard but flagging somewhat. 

 “Bear down, love, open up for me,” John told him.  He slid his fingers through the wetness sitting at the tip of Sherlock’s prick, running the pad of a slick finger along Sherlock’s sensitive frenulum.  Beneath him Sherlock gasped in pleasure and unclenched slightly, and John could feel his hands sink into the man just a little bit more. 

“You are ready” John bent down to kiss his swollen lips again. 

“John, John, John” Sherlock chanted his name like it was a prayer and the older man moaned as he looked down at Sherlock. He couldn’t believe how it was possible for someone to love so much. It couldn’t be healthy.

“You’ve completely wrecked me, Sherlock” John moaned and both of his hands were in Sherlock’s hair, grasping each side of his head. His kiss was demanding, his tongue and lips were coaxing Sherlock’s. The brunet moaned, and his tongue tentatively met John’s. He put his arms around the detective and hauled him against his body, squeezing him tightly. One hand remained in the brunet’s hair, the other traveled down his spine to his narrow waist and down to his behind. John’s hand flexed over Sherlock’s backside and squeezed gently. He held the slender man against his hips, and Sherlock felt John’s erection, which he languidly pushed onto Sherlock’s own leaking cock.

Sherlock moaned once more into John’s mouth. He can hardly contain the riotous feelings that rampage through his body. They both wanted this so badly. Gripping John’s upper arms, Sherlock felt his biceps, he was surprisingly strong and muscular for his height. Army training. Tentatively, the brunet moved his hands up to John’s face and into his hair. _Holy Moses!,_ Sherlock thought.  It was so soft. He tugged gently, and the doctor groaned.

“Oh Sherlock, what I could do to you” he groaned. He trailed with his hand very gently Sherlock’s chest and his thumb slowly rolled the end of his nipple, elongating it. The brunet groaned, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to his groin. He was leaking far too much for his liking. Sherlock never leaked like that and was genuinely surprised. He threw his head back and moaned in pleasure again and again.

 “Oh please”, he begged John as his fingers clasped the sheet beneath him tighter. John’s lips close around my other nipple and he tugged. Sherlock nearly convulsed. John made himself comfortable between Sherlock’s legs and leaned down, his hands on either side of Sherlock’s head, so he was hovering over the detective, staring down into his impossible eyes, his jaw clenched, eyes burning.

"You really want to do this?" John asked softly.

"Please" Sherlock begged again.

John caressed softly Sherlock’s hips and kissed him softly until the younger man groaned in frustration. He grabbed John’s cock and gave it a few firm strokes. John gulped, grabbing Sherlock’s hips and pushing them down together. The detective couldn’t help but yelp at the feeling of their cocks nearly lining up, the heads of them bumping against one another, the leaking fluid mixing as they grounded their hips together. John kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock, both of their faces growing more red, perspiration forming on their lips and foreheads.

“John… I won’t break, I want you, I won’t break…” John kissed him on the mouth, gently.

“I know. I know you’re strong, but I don’t want to push you…”

Sherlock grabbed both of their throbbing erections, smearing the precome up and down their shafts. From root to tip he massaged them both, together, he was pressing his body to John’s much as he could, until there was no more space between them and even a paper couldn’t fit between their sweating bodies. They breathed and kissed and nipped at each other’s mouths and Sherlock began shuddering underneath John gently biting down on his shoulder.

"Pull your knees up," John ordered softly but firmly, and Sherlock was quick to obey. "I'm going to take you now, Sherlock," he murmured as he positioned the head of his erection at the Sherlock’s entrance. "I’m going to take you and I’m going to keep you. Forever" he whispers, and he slams into the detective.

"Oh God!" Sherlock cried as he felt a weird pinching sensation deep inside him as he John sank deeply into him. The doctor stilled, gazing down at Sherlock, his eyes bright with ecstatic triumph and his mouth was open slightly, and his breathing was harsh. He groaned.

"You're so tight. You okay?" John asked.

The brunet nodded, his blue eyes wide, his long hands on John’s forearms grasping him desperately. He feel so full and content. It was nothing like the times he had with Garth. This was so different, so much better. John stayed still, letting Sherlock acclimatize to the intrusive, overwhelming feeling of the soldier inside him.

"I'm going to move, baby," he breathed after a moment, his voice tight.

John eased back with exquisite slowness. And he closed his eyes and groaned again, and thrusts into Sherlock again. The brunet cried out a second time, and John stilled. 

"More?" he whispered, his voice raw.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed. John did it once more, and stilled again.

The detective groaned. His body accepting the doctor... Oh, how he had wanted this.

"Again?" John breathed.

"Yes" this time, it's a plea.

And so John moved, but this time he didn't stop. He shifted onto his elbows so Sherlock could feel his weight on him, holding him down. John moved slowly at first, easing himself in and out of Sherlock and moaning. And as the detective grew accustomed to the alien feeling of John, his hips moved tentatively to meet John’s.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are like this," John admired him with a far off tone, thrusting gently into Sherlock like lovers do. "So perfect. So needy. It's like you're being torn apart for wanting this".

"John..." Sherlock whined as he claws at John's back, begging for more.

The doctor sped up. Sherlock moaned, and as John pounded on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, Sherlock kept up, meeting John’s thrusts. John grasped Sherlock’s head between his hands and kisses him hard, his teeth pulling at the brunet’s lower lip again. He shifted slightly, and Sherlock could feel something building deep inside him, like before. He started to stiffen as John thrust on and on. Sherlock’s body quivered, bows, a sheen of sweat gathers over him and all he could thing was: _Oh my...  I didn't know it would feel like this... didn't know it could feel as good as this._ Sex had never felt as incredible as this before. Sherlock could feel his thoughts scattering... there was only sensation... only him... only John... his John.

“Oh God, Sherlock. Everything. It’s you. It’s always been you. You’re the only one I’ll ever want. I belong with you. You’re my home. I look at you and somehow I can see 50 years from now on the front porch of some old house in the middle of nowhere and we’re together. I need you, you’re the only thing that matters. You’re my everything”.

“You want me that much?” Sherlock marveled.

 “And a little more”.

At those whispered words, Sherlock stiffened.

"Come for me, Sherlock," John whispered breathlessly, and the detective unraveled at his words, exploding on his stomach as he climaxed untouched and splintered into a million pieces underneath John screaming his name. And as John saw him, he came too, calling out Sherlock’s name as well, thrusting hard, then stilling as he emptied himself into the detective.

Sherlock was still panting, trying to slow his breathing, his thumping heart, and his thoughts are in riotous disarray. That was astounding. He opened my eyes, and John had his forehead pressed against his, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. John’s eyes flickered open and gazed down at the brunet, dark blue but soft. He was still inside the detective. Leaning down, he gently pressed a kiss against Sherlock’s forehead then slowly pulled out of him.

"Ooh" he winced at the feeling of lost.

"Did I hurt you?" John asked immediately as he lied down beside Sherlock propped on one elbow. He tucked a dark lock of Sherlock’s hair behind his ear. And the man had to grin, widely.

"You are asking me if you hurt me?" he asked.

“I believe I am, yes" John smiles sardonically. "Seriously, are you okay?" His eyes are intense, probing, demanding even. He has just had the most amazing orgasm in his life and he is just wondering how could he have lived without Sherlock for so long.

The brunet stretched out beside John, feeling loose-limbed, his bones like jelly, but he was relaxed, deeply relaxed. More relaxed than ever. This feeling was the best feeling ever. It was even better than drugs. John was his new drug and he would be addicted to him forever. He grinned at the older man. He couldn't stop grinning. Now, Sherlock finally remembered what all the fuss for sex was about. He had no idea what his body was capable of, could be wound so tightly and released so violently, so gratifyingly. The pleasure was indescribable.

John had always felt a sort of selfish propriety over Sherlock’s body, but now it was ingrained – he’d come to expect to be able to arrange him and caress him as he wished. Well. Almost as he wished. The idea of anyone else even attempting the same made the veins in his eyes throbbing murder. They belonged to each other now and John wasn’t gonna lose Sherlock again.

“I’ve never been better. I’ve never felt anything like this. I knew it was going to be great but I had never imagined it would be that good. I wanna do it again” Sherlock said and pressed his body close to John’s.

John found himself lost for words to describe how... just how beautiful the man who was lying next to him, was. His high cheek bones created a long, and detailed, a unique look to him, and his silvery blue eyes topped it off. He had a small, frail waist, a bit unhealthy looking, which began to frightened John but quickly forgot it. He would make sure Sherlock was okay. He was sure the detective had been through hell and back. The abuse was right there for him to see and he could only curse and hate himself for being so blind and not doing anything earlier. He could see every bone on his Sherlock’s body, and he was sure he weighed maybe a little less than six stones. Most of his bruises had faded quickly; par one on his stomach where he was fairly certain something more dastardly than a bruise had occurred.

Now that he had realized how important Sherlock was to him, the fear that wormed in his stomach and made him light headed every time Sherlock wasn’t with him and he couldn’t protect him, was becoming stronger. He let those thoughts drift away as now he was living a moment of complete happiness. A feeling he didn’t even dare to dream but now he could feel it and he didn’t know if he could ever lie without it again. 

“We’ll definitely do it again” John smiled and pulled Sherlock closer to him if that was possible.

Together, spent and tangled together so you couldn’t tell which limb was who, John watched as Sherlock fell asleep, his face completely relaxed. And that’s when John remembered that he hadn’t told Sherlock about Mary’s pregnancy yet and he hadn’t texted Mary at all. He nearly panicked. But no, Mary wouldn’t do anything stupid just because he would be a little late. But what about Sherlock? they have just had sex and it was the most amazing thing John’s ever felt in his entire life. What if Sherlock got mad and left him? He wouldn’t be able to live without his detective. What if Sherlock didn’t want the baby and made John choose between him and his child. Oh God! Could he do that? He didn’t think he could choose. He tried to stop himself from having a panic attack and took deep calming breaths. He closed his eyes and prayed that he hadn’t pissed any God so much that they would take this from him now that he had finally found Sherlock.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, i really enjoyed writing this. Some parts of this chapter are copied from "50 shades of Grey" so they might remind you of that! It's not big parts but I still felt the need to clarify.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides in embarrassment for taking 20 thousand years to update*  
> I'm so terribly sorry guys for not updating for so long. I was on holiday and I will be for the next couple of weeks which makes it really hard to write. Plus this chapter gave me hell - I know exactly what has to happen but the words wont come!!!  
> Update will probably be in another week :)) This chapter contains a LOT of fluff between Sherlock and John, they're true poets and I love them but it was really hard to think about all these things to write (a few quotes aren't mine but I love them anyway so... yeah!) This chapter is a bit shorter but I'll make it up to you in the next one! It's better than nothing, right? Enjoy the fluff and comment if you like.

Sherlock woke up slowly. For the first time he felt safe. He wasn't sure where he was or who he was with, but he felt incredibly safe and content. He never wanted to get up. He blinked slowly and turned his head only to see a pair of warm, blue eyes watching him. He smiled instantly and threw an arm around the older man's waist and held him tight. Last night, he spent a long time listening to John breathing, feeling his heartbeat, basking in the warmth of John snuggling up to him. He never wants to move.

"Morning" John said cheerfully. 

Sherlock giggled. 

"What?" John asked not bothering to hide his own smile. 

"Nothing. It just looks funny to me. You and me finally being here... like this... I don't know, I just feel the need to laugh" Sherlock said and blushed a bit. 

John laughed himself and held Sherlock tight to his chest. He felt extremely happy at the time. It was a feeling he had never felt before. Not even with Mary, the woman he had married and loved more than anyone. Well at least that's what he thought. He had thought that he truly loved Mary until the moment she had asked him to choose between Sherlock and his baby. She had practically asked him to tear his heart in two and pick one piece and then burn the other. He didn't feel guilty anymore about cheating on his wife. But he was still afraid that Mary might do something drastic if she found out about them. She had already threatened him that she'd take the baby away and for a second John had truly believed her. He had seen that crazy sparkle in her eyes. She had looked like a possessed woman, a woman who would do anything to get what she wanted. The problem was that John wasn't quite sure what it was that she wanted. He had already admitted that he was in love with Sherlock so she couldn't really want him. And of course he wouldn't abandon his baby so that couldn't be the reason either. So what did she really want? 

His thoughts were interrupted when Sherlock woke enough to pull himself out from under John's weight, roll over onto his side, and spoon them together once more. John sighed contentedly, at something of a loss for words. 

“I am going to catalogue and memorize every inch of you,” Sherlock murmured against John's hair and tried to pull him in close. For him it was rather romantic.

"Mmm, I think I'd rather like that. But I have to go" John said apologetically. "Mary will get suspicious". 

Sherlock groaned and held onto John even tighter.

"Must you?" he asked like a child refusing to give up on his toy. 

"Unfortunately yes. You remember what happened last time, right? You don't want anything like that happening again, do you?" John said.

”Stay. Please stay.” He reached out a hand, still a bit heavy from sleep, to grab John’s wrist.

”I want to, more than anything. But you know I can’t. I have to go back to her or she'll figure out something's happening” he said.

Sherlock reluctantly let go of John and sulked.

"Now, now, don't be like that" John pleaded.

"I'm letting you go but that doesn't mean I have to like it too" Sherlock whined. 

"I'll fix this mess, Sherlock" John promised. "I promise, I'll fix it. And then we'll be together forever". 

Sherlock didn't speak. He had heard far too many promises until now and he no longer believed in words. But then again that was John and he would never lie to him. Except, he already had. He knew that John never really wanted to hurt him but he couldn't help but think that John was hiding something from him. And his instinct was barely ever wrong. 

”When will you come back?” he asked.

"As soon as I can" the blonde man said but Sherlock didn't seem satisfied by this answer. "Tonight" he said.

Sherlock nodded but still refused to speak. 

"You know, I don't like this any more than you do" John said exasperated. "Please, don't be mad now. I'm doing my best".

"I know". 

Sherlock's blue eyes were on John, looking at him. The soldier felt like he was on trial with the way the detective was looking at him as if he was searching for proofs to believe him. It felt like Sherlock didn't trust him and John didn't like it one bit. He pressed himself against Sherlock and took his long hands in his own tanned ones. He tenderly kissed the detective's knuckles and looked into his eyes, deep blue meeting sharp green-blue ones. He was going to tell him the truth now and hope for the best. He couldn't wait to find a solution, he felt like he was deceiving Sherlock. He wanted the man to trust him and in order to do that, he knew he had to tell the truth. Sherlock was like a lie detector, he could sense John was hiding something from him and all the doctor could do was tell him what it was he was hiding. He owed it to the man after what he had put him through. And Sherlock had forgiven him, so John wasn't going to screw up this chance as well.

"There's something I need to tell you" he said slowly.

Sherlock looked at him expectantly as John took another deep breath. It was apparent he was struggling with words so Sherlock decided to help. 

"It has to do with Mary" he said as a matter of fact. "Is it the reason she was blackmailing you to leave me?" he asked.

"Yeah" John licked his lips. 

"What is it, John? You can tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Sherlock said tenderly. 

"Yeah. Do you promise not to get mad at me?" he asked and felt like a schoolboy talking to his parents but quickly shook that thought off.

"I can't promise you that" Sherlock admitted. "But I promise I won't be mad for long" he smiled but quickly he became serious again. "What is it John? Whatever it is, it can't be your fault". 

"Well... not entirely but..." John bit his lip and looked at Sherlock. His heart was beating uncontrollably fast and he could feel his hands sweating. "Mary... well... Maryispregnant" he said quickly at last. 

Sherlock looked at him and remained quiet. He took a deep breath and blinked quickly a couple of times. He still didn't say anything but bit his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. He swallowed hard and began blinking again. John held his breath closing his eyes ready for the storm that never came. He was pretty sure that Sherlock was going to scream at him, and he would just have to sit there and take it. But Sherlock didn't scream. He didn't shout and he didn't curse. 

"Sherlock... please say something" John begged him, fearing for the worst.

"Wow" was all Sherlock could breathe.

John closed his eyes.

"Say something else" he said again. 

"That's... well... I... I don't know what to say" he said and looked at the floor. 

"Please, Sherlock, don't hate me. I'm really sorry, I wasn't planning on it. You're... you're not gonna leave me now, are you? I didn't even know it until recently..." John was speaking very quickly and Sherlock blinked. 

"John... wait, what? What are you talking about? Why would I...? Did you really think that I'd leave you?"

"Well you could... I don't know. Demand that I don't see her again. Or the baby. Choose you over them..." John swallowed hard still being afraid that Sherlock might demand that.

But Sherlock just gaped at him. He opened his eyes wide and looked quite shocked and a bit hurt. John was at lost.

"John... what kind of person do you think I am? I would never ask you to abandon your child for me. For anyone. Jesus, how could you even think that? Yes, I am shocked and a bit... disappointed but only because Mary is having your baby. A part of you. She has a greater claim on you than I will ever have. But that doesn't mean I'd do such a monstrosity as to ask you to leave your baby behind for me. I... do you honestly think that I'm so heartless? Is that what you think of me?" Sherlock sounded genuinely hurt. "Have I really given you such a terrible impression of me?"

John immediately felt guilty. 

"Sherl... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot" John pleaded, certain he did damage to Sherlock's fragile heart. His detective gave his trust and love so rarely and here he was practically blaming him for trying to take him away from his child. "You're right, I'm sorry, I really am" he tried reaching out to Sherlock slowly, as if he were afraid the detective might bolt. "I was just afraid because... you see it's happened before. She... she kinda blackmailed me to choose either you or the baby and that's why I left you. I thought... I was afraid, I'm sorry. I didn't even think how it might make you feel. I'm sorry". 

Sherlock flinched a bit subconsciously. John saw his flinch and Sherlock looked up as John groaned in despair. The next thing he knew, John had wrapped his arms around him again, placed a single kiss on his lips.

"Love, my angel, I'm so sorry. I love you, I don't think of you like that. You're the most amazing person I've ever met. I'm so sorry. Forgive me for being such an idiot?" John whispered, squeezing him tightly against his chest. 

Sherlock sighed loudly and let go of his frustrations and sadness and lifted his arms, holding his doctor back. John was his, his doctor, his soldier, his lover. He had him in his arms and John loved him. He knew that, he truly did. 

"I forgave you for being an idiot years ago" Sherlock whispered and he smiled when John laughed. "I love you and yes I forgive you. I'm sorry I got mad too but I'd never do that to you. I know I'm not the most emotional person but still... I'd never do that to you".

"I know. I'm so sorry for believing that. Actually no, I don't believe that you'd ever do that, but I was just insecure I guess. It has already happened once, my wife, the person I thought I loved the most betrayed me like that. I..." 

"Okay, John. It's okay, I'm not really mad" Sherlock said and sighed in contentment from his place at John's chest, breathing him in..

"And how are you feeling about this? I mean her being pregnant?" John asked carefully. 

"Well, I'm not thrilled obviously. But it's not your fault. I know you didn't choose this. Of course this complicates things a great deal but we'll figure out what to do. You should have told me though. When you left me, you should have told me".

"I know. I'm sorry". 

"Are you sure the baby is yours?" Sherlock asked. 

John paused looking at Sherlock with wide eyes. He pushed the aman from him and the detective growled in discomfort. 

"Are you implying that she's lying to me? Are you saying that she is having a baby that is not mine? That she cheated on me and now she's trying to do what exactly? Save this marriage? What would be the point of this? I mean I know Mary's not the best person, I get that now but this... she's not capable of something like that. She'd never lie to me about something so important. To raise the child with someone that's not its father... Sherlock she's not a monster" John ended half screaming.

"John, would you calm down? I'm not implying anything. I was merely curious..."

"No" John interrupted him and got out of bed. He picked his clothes from the floor and began dressing.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm leaving. I told you, I have to go back to her" John replied.

"You're mad at me" Sherlock stated. 

"Yep, that's a perfectly good deduction" John growled. 

"But why? I didn't do anything bad. I only asked if you were sure that the child is yours. Do you honestly find it so irrational that Mary might have lied to you? Maybe she's telling the truth but don't you think you should look into it?" 

"No. I don't think it's necessary to have a DNA test or whatever. And you know why? Because I'd like to think that I know the woman who I married. The woman who I was in love with. She wouldn't lie to me like that. Not for something so important. And yes, she might have blackmailed me and it might be wrong but it's still the same woman I fell in love with. The very same woman who helped me pick my pieces when you left me, when you died. The same woman I swore to love and protect and I'm now cheating on!" 

John felt irrationally angry at Sherlock. Deep inside him he knew it wasn't Sherlock's fault and his doubts were more than justified but he couldn't accept it. He wouldn't have a DNA test. Maybe because he was afraid of the results. Maybe because he didn't want to believe that Mary was actually capable of something like that. So instead he found it easier to be mad at Sherlock.

The detective didn't speak but watched John as he got dressed. Once the shorter man was done, the brunet sighed loudly.

"We are supposed to work better, this all is supposed to work better, I was supposed to come back from the dead to you--you who have taken up all the space in my brain and oxygen in every room for functional logical thought. You who have made me felt this way since you first climbed the seventeen steps of our flat, since ‘it’s all fine’. You who I’ve died for a thousand times over again, and would do without question if you even so much glanced my way. You, who chose her over me" the detective exploded at last. 

John gave him a harsh look.

"I chose her? Me? It wasn't me that chose her, Sherlock. How dare you say that? You left me, Sherlock. You bloody left me for two years without any note, without a single hope. What was I supposed to do? Even ehen you came back, you didn't say anything. You pushed me to her... you let me go to her".

"Yes, that I did. The most selfless thing I’ve ever done was fight the urge to ask you to stay. But don't think it was easy for me. I was actually crying and I was dying here at 3 am thinking about you while you were dreaming about someone that wasn't me" Sherlock screamed and John laughed with a bitter sound. 

"Do you even know what I went through? You left me even though you knew. You knew I'd do anything for you" he screamed back at him.

"Well, I did everything for you" Sherlock contradicted. It wasn't just you that had to go through a lot. Or do you think that I spent these two years going on vacations? Sandy beaches, warm sun and luxury hotels, laughing at the chaos I left behind me, is that what you think? I've done all I could to keep you safe because I love you. Because I've loved you ever since I first laid my eyes on you. And yes, I knew what I was leaving behind me when I faked my death and I knew it was highly likely to lose you but you know what? I don't regret it. And if I could somehow turn the time back, I'd do it all over again. Everything I did, I'd do it again if that meant that you'd be safe and happy... With someone else. Because I chose your life over mine's. And I’d do it all over again, you know. I wouldn’t trade one second if it meant we were right here in this moment. I've changed too. I realized that once you had put the pieces back together, even though you might look intact, you were never quite the same as you’d been before the fall".

"You're right..." John whispered. "You are so brave and quiet, I tend to forget you are suffering... I know you suffered too".

"You know nothing, John" Sherlock accused. You keep saying that you had to go through hell but you don't really know what I had to go through as well. I... I always knew looking back on the tears would make me laugh, but I never knew looking back on the laughs would make me cry. You taught me that. You and our memories. I've missed you too, you know”.

It was John's time to remain quiet. He stood still with his back to Sherlock. He was taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. This was not good, he didn't like it when they were fighting with Sherlock. Finally he turned to face the younger man.

"Do you believe me when I say I love you?" John asked him.

"I do" Sherlock answered honestly. "But I'm scared".

"Why?" John asked again. 

Sherlock shrugged. 

“People say they love rain, but they use an umbrella to walk under it. Then they say they love sun, but they seek shelter when it shines most. Then you say you love wind, but when it comes you close your windows. So that’s why I’m scared when you say you love me” the detective avoided John's eyes.

"You were scared of the way I make you feel because you didn’t wanna feel anything. You care and that’s what kills you".

"I can't help caring about you" Sherlock said. "Each time I did something to push you away I was terrified it would work. I can’t tell you how happy I am it never did. I've always thought I was hard to love. Actually I'm a pretty impossible man".

"Yeah, well the way you see yourself and the way I see you are two very different things" John said softer.

"You know of my past experiences with Garth now. I find it hard to believe in love and yet with you it's different. I'm trying. Is it not enough?" he asked with a tone of desperation in his voice.

"Of course it's enough. It's more than enough, it's actually more than I deserve. I'm... I'm sorry I got mad. It actually scares me the idea that you might be right. And I'm afraid too. You give me your trust and love and you have no idea how important it is to me. You are the only thing that matters to me in this world. You and my baby. No one else. I love no one else, I promise you".

"Mmm. Growing up I always thought true love was red roses, dates on Saturday nights, little block box that held expensive things and always knowing what to say. I thought true love was a kiss in the rain, deep explanations and the perfect story. But now that I’m older, I’ve realized it’s not like that at all. See, because true love for me is ugly experiments while peeing while you’re on your laptop typing on your silly blog about our adventures. True love is kissing at 6 am despite the fact that you need to be at your job at 8 o’clock and you need sleep. It’s saying all the wrong things, all the wrong moments because that’s what I always do and you just stand there watching me, smiling fondly. It’s sarcasm and being honest even if it hurts. It’s late hours of the night when it’s been a long day, and it’s bad hair and no deodorant. It’s tears from laughter that we’ve shared only with each other, it’s tears from sadness that we’ve offered each other and it’s nothing like any storybook we’ve ever read. It’s never running out of things to talk about and it’s being comfortable in the silence of things. True love is watching one of those crap movies you like, though I swore I never would. It’s getting mad over stupid things. It’s a ‘you’re an idiot’ and a ‘you’re insufferable’ and knowing we’re so lucky to hear those words every day. It’s spilling your feelings at 4 am when you should be asleep. It’s that memory you suddenly have that makes you smile. It’s us. It’s who we are and it’s possibly the worst story anyone could imagine, but thank God it worked out anyways. True love is never losing the magic. True love is not leaving when things get hard" Sherlock stopped talking to observe John. Where had that come from? But John was smiling with tears in his eyes. 

"Well, I've always liked your definitions better anyways... Was he... Was Garth your first love?" the doctor asked and went to sit next to Sherlock again. 

The detective snuggled up to him and smiled when the doctor wrapped his arms around his slender waist protectively. He loved it when John was holding him like that. He felt warm and safe and... at home. John felt like home to him and he loved the sensation. 

"Actually no. With Garth it wasn't really love. It was more like he was the first one to ever pay attention to me so I got flattered and then I became dependent and then everything was a mess. My first real love was the ocean. I have always been fascinated with the roaring chant of the waves crashing against the shoreline as I used to dug my tiny toes between the sand. With the pull of the current as I waded through the water. With the shells that lined the sand before me, tattered and torn long before they landed before me. Maybe it’s because I see you in the ocean tides, rising and falling with each word. Crashing against me with all the force your body will allow. Creating a whirlpool inside of my stomach. Maybe it’s because when I look into your eyes, I see the ocean itself - vast and wide. Shades of blue and green call out to me and send me into a trance. They pull me under until I can’t escape, immersing my tiny body inside of you. Each time I look into your eyes, I’m caught in a riptide. So my first real love was the ocean. But my second love is you. I love you like I love the sea. And I'm okay with drowning".

John looked at him with complete adoration in his eyes. He felt incredibly moved, none had ever said anything like this to him. He felt like he was going to cry and he barely managed to catch himself before the first tear fell.

"Now your turn, how did you fall in love with me?" Sherlock asked.

John laughed for he didn't have an answer. Honestly he couldn't tell how he had fallen in love with Sherlock. He was in love with him forever for all he could remember. He shook his head and looked at Sherlock at lost.

"I honestly don't know" he confessed. "I can't tell, I think I've always loved you. I'm really crap at this but I'll try to explain. My grandma used to tell me this and I honestly thought it was some sort of old crap but when I met you I actually understood what she meant. So, here's what she used to tell me. "It happens like this. One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else—closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel—one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them—even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering—the reason for their presence will become clear in due time. Though here is a word of warning—you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn’t to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more”. When I met you, I realized how it was possible to actually connect with a complete stranger. I still don't quite understand it but I can feel it. There are some things that the heart knows that the mind will never comprehend, right?"

Sherlock nodded again. He felt relaxed once again.

"So, are we good?" he asked John.

"Yes" the other man replied. "We're good. We've always been good. Even when I couldn't see you, I would give my life if I could have a split-second glimpse of your face, your smile".

"I know I broke your heart when I died..." Sherlock began to say but John didn't let him finish.

"Yeah you did. But that's how you know you really love someone. It's when you don’t hate them for breaking your heart. And I never stopped loving you. Not for one second" he admitted. "And you came back to me. You put me back together so well that I forgot I was ever broken".

"John" Sherlock purred. "I'd suggest you stop now because I'll never let you go".

John chuckled and kissed the top of Sherlock's head.

"I really have to go. I don't want to, but I have to. But I'll see you again tonight, I promise" he murmured. "You'll see. It'll all be over soon and it'll be just the two of us. And we'll have a very happy ending".

"There are no happy endings" Sherlock protested. "Endings are the saddest part, so just give me a happy middle and a very happy start".

"I'll make sure to know that" he said and they stayed like that for a little while.

"Don't you have to go?" Sherlock asked him. "You have to go to her. It's something important, right?"

"Hm" John hummed but made no move to leave. "Actually, there are millions important things for me to do. None of them is nearly as important as lying here next to you".

Sherlock smiled and sighed happily.

"It's fine, I'm not mad anymore. Go" he said to him.

"I know you're not mad. Can I tell you a secret? Back, before you died, whenever you were gone you were making me feel nostalgic for a love that hadn't even happened yet" he said.

"It reminds me of a poem I once read. I used to read it and think of you whenever you were gone at the clinic. It goes like this. "You are the turning pages of my book. You are the first rainfall in the summer. You are the silence on my chaotic brain. You are everything my mind stops to think. And if that’s not enough, you are my dreams too. You are my hopes and my reality and there’s no escaping you." It described perfectly what I felt for you. What I feel for you" he corrected himself.

"I didn't know you read poetry" John said.

"I didn't. Not before I met you" Sherlock admitted and blushed.

"Well, you shouldn't feel embarassed. I really enjoyed spending time with you, even when we were just sitting around talking about nothing. There are a million things I love about you and I just got the greatest feeling whenever I made you laugh. I felt as if my company made you happy and that’s what I wished for you. For you to be happy. And when I saw you laugh at my clumsy ways and all the silly things I said, it was then I realized that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you so I can see that smile on your face. It's crazy how we both avoided our feelings for each other for so long".

"We were stupid. I mean yeah, it must be common for you but this time I was stupid too" the brunet laughed and John soon joined him.

"I have to go" John moaned in clear displeasure.

"But you'll come back tonight" Sherlock said and rubbed his cheek on John's shoulder.

"Yeah, I will" John kissed the detective's nose tenderly, making Sherlock wrinkle it, a motion that John found absolutely adorable.

John got up again and left, feeling lighter than ever. He had no weight on his shoulders now that Sherlock knew the truth. And Sherlock wasn't mad at him, he had not demanded anything ludicrous like Mary had. Sherlock really loved him, he was certain now. And the words he had said to him had made his heart twitch and beat very fast. He was in love with Sherlock like he had never been before. Now he had to go and face Mary. No matter what he had said, he knew that he had to be absolutely sure before he went through this. He had to make sure that this baby was actually his. He didn't want to upset Mary or make her feel cheap but he had to know.

No matter what happened with the child, John was determined to remain with Sherlock. He looked around the street, watching the people walking aimlessly and he pictured the people in his life exist as they always had. But this time he was seeing them differently. As if they were there for the first time, bright and shiny and new. In a way, they were. Sherlock had opened his heart to love, let John strengthen his heart. And the love John showed him was empowering. So he saw everything new through John. Because of him. Sherlock was now a man reborn. Pulled from the ashes and of grief and loneliness, he would make sure he had everything he needed and wanted in his life. Everything to protect, cherish. A lifetime ahead of him to deduce the miracles of his doctor's heart and his own.

And the second John had found him, he dared to say his life was perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to properly thanks again everyone who still reads my story and I apologize again for taking me forever to update! I'm really sorry. I don't know when I'll update the next chapter but bear in mind, this story is NOT abandoned. As always, I'm sorry for the mistakes!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, new chapter! Sorry for the delay but you know it's really hard to find time and write with school and all. Just remember that I haven't abandoned the story and be patient. So in this chapter, you'll see Molly like I promised! A special "Thank you" to all those who still read my story and leave comments. I love you all you're my inspiration/motivation! <3

Mary was pacing the kitchen patiently waiting for her guest. She knew what was going on. Of course she knew, she wasn't an idiot. John was never home and when he was, he was always checking on his phone for new texts. She didn't have to be a detective to figure out what was going on. Her husband was cheating on her with his best friend, that much was obvious. The only real question left was whether there was something she could still do to break them apart. She hated the fact that her future life and happiness depended so entirely on Sherlock bloody Holmes. For once again she closed her eyes and prayed that this plan would work.

She placed her right hand on her belly. She wouldn't hurt John, she could never do that. For one, she loved him and then they were going to have a family. She'd hoped that once John saw the baby, he would forget all about Sherlock but now she had started to have second thoughts and she wouldn't allow this perfect life she was building to be taken from her for a second time. She didn't deserve it. She wouldn't allow a stupid enthusiasm to ruin their perfect family. Besides, Sherlock was only toying with John. He didn't really love him, he was incapable of feeling love towards anyone. She was merely helping John realizing it before it was too late. She wanted the best for him. For them. Because she knew that the best for John was her and their baby.

She heard the doorbell ringing and let a sigh of relief escape her mouth. She had been waiting for the man for hours now and she didn't like waiting. Not to mention she was now beginning to worry that he might not come. The idiotic man had started getting emotional. After all these years... It was unbelievable. She hurried to open the door and let the tall man in.

"Where have you been? Never mind, just come in. Into the living room" she scolded him.

Garth almost stumbled on the stairs and lost his balance but quickly he composed himself and got in, walking nervously to the living room obediently. He didn't like the look she had on her face.

"Abby, what's going on? Is it safe for me to be here?" he asked and looked around the house.

"Shut up" Mary growled. "It's perfectly safe, no one is going to see you. And I'm pretty sure that if you see someone you know, you won't let them know about me, isn't that right?" she asked and took one step closer to him.

Garth gulped and nodded his head furiously.

"Good. The reason you're here is because I need help and unfortunately you're the only one who can help me" she sighed. "I've run out of alliances, I'm afraid" she said and rolled her eyes.

"Is it about Sherlock?" Garth asked cautiously. He desperately hoped the answer would be no. That now that the plan hadn't worked, the woman would leave it alone. He should have known better than that.

"Oh good, you're following my thoughts" she purred. Her eyes were shining mischievously. Every man would be intrigued by them. Every woman would probably be jealous of their sparkle, intimidated even. But Garth knew better. Every sane man or woman should be afraid of those eyes. He had heard rumours about men dying when this woman got this specific look on her eyes.

"No, I'm not" the blonde hurried to assure her. "But I can't help you. Sherlock's had enough I think. I don't want to inflict any more pain to him or John. Leave them, Abby. They're good together and I don't understand why you want to break them apart so much". Garth meant it, he really did. He didn't wanna inflict any more pain on Sherlock. He owed him that much. He knew he had acted like a real asshole back then and his words were still audible to his ears.

_“All the excuses I made for the way you hurt me. -the times I forgave you and let you in again simply because I was scared of living without you. -the blind hope I kept somewhere in my heart, even after you left. -the months I spent waiting for you to come back to me. -the belief that you really would one day. And I think what hurts the most is all I am left with now- just the sadness that comes with the realization that no matter how far we stray from each other in this lifetime, we will never find our way back into each other’s arms because we simply are not meant to be together.”_

He shuddered at the memory of a devastating and drunk Sherlock yelling at him.

Mary's sly smile disappeared from her face and she winced in pain.

"You don't have to understand, arsehole! You just have to do as I say and I know you will. I know what's good for John..." she caught herself in time. She was already giving away too much and she didn't trust this coward. "Besides it's none of your bloody business. My reasons don't concern you. You just take orders and this time you make sure the plan is a success, unlike the other times. I'm handing you over what you've wanted all along. All this time, don't you remember our deal? You get your bitch back and I get John".

"Don't call him that!" Garth screamed at her angrily.

Mary snapped her mouth shut and regarded Garth with a new interest. He had never raised his voice to her. He was too bloody afraid. She laughed loudly.

"My, my, you're not getting all emotional on me, are you?" she sneered. "Let me remind you who's boss here, shall I?" she said and got up.

"No... no... I remember" Garth shuttered trembling. "Please" he added in a small voice.

"You better remember next time" she spat and sat back down again. "I'll pretend this" she said and motioned between them, "never happened. I'm far too busy to deal with you right now" she took a deep breath and calmed somewhat. "Anyway... the only thing you really need to remember is that I hold your life in my hands. You don't want any of those bad, bad guys at the mob to come after you, do you? And this lovely drug dealer... you owe him some money, don't you? Quite the sum of money..."

"Please" Garth repeated. "I'll do anything... whatever you want" he gulped.

"Of course you will" she growled. "If you wanna keep living without having to look behind your back for the rest of your days, then you'll follow my orders, is that clear?"

Garth took a deep shaky breath.

"Crystal clear" he murmured in defeat.

"Good" she said and smiled again. "And anyway all  _I_ want is to keep my family united. Can you really blame me? What you do with Sherlock is entirely up to you" she sighed. "Although if I were you, I'd keep him around to play. I may love John but even I can't deny that he's got some looks, doesn't he?" Garth glared at her but didn't say anything.

"I suppose" was all he managed. 

"Well like I said, it's totally your call" she huffed uninterested. 

They stayed in silence until Garth grew tired and coughed awkward. He didn't want to make her mad. She knew too much. She held information that could burn him. He was in bug trouble and all he could do to keep himself alive was follow her orders whether he liked it or not. He honestly felt bad about Sherlock and this John, even though he didn't know the man. They were good for each other and with that wife, the least he could do was feel sorry for him! But he had done too much to pull back now. He had to do more in order to survive. He wondered if Sherlock would ever forgive him. Probably no. He knew he wouldn't.

"So... the plan?" he prompted.

Mary smiled like a Cheshire cat and searched into her purse a little while until she found what she was looking for.

"It's quite simple, really" she said and pulled a metal object and smiled. She handed him over a gun, at the sight of which Garth paled.

"I'm _NOT_ going to kill him. No way" he screamed and had to restrain himself from vomiting all over the carpet.

Mary simply rolled her eyes.

"Of course not" she replied. "Then John would just fall into depression, do you think I want that?"

Garth briefly wondered if the woman was crazy or actually oblivious? Did she really think that breaking them apart wouldn't make John depressed? Did she honestly think that he loved her and they'd be fine together? Was that a sigh of ignorance of an oblivious person, despair of a woman in love or simply obsession of a crazy person?

"Here's what you need to do".

***

 

 

 

To say Sherlock was bored was an understatement. He was literally dying of boredom. He could almost feel his brain cells rotting as he had nothing to occupy his mind with. He really wanted to go to Bart's to run some experiments. He knew Molly would be working there but John was feeling extra protective today and he wouldn't let him leave Lestrade's house before he returned from his wife. Sherlock wondered briefly what were John's plans. He knew he wouldn't leave Mary now that she was pregnant. And Sherlock would never ask him to abandon his child but where did that leave him? What was he supposed to do? In the future how on earth would he introduce himself to John's son or daughter? As his lover? The reason he broke up with their mother? God, would John's kid hate him for it? He couldn't help but feel nervous.

Just then he heard his phone ringing. He sighed in exasperation but deep inside he was wishing someone would offer him some distraction. He hadn't had a case in almost two weeks and he was desperate. He remembered one time when he would be picky with his cases and reject the boring ones. Now he would quite literally take any case brought to him. Nothing seemed as boring as sitting there and doing nothing. No cases, no experiments and no John. He winced at that last thought. John was gone for less than an hour and he already missed him. He felt somewhat disgusted at how needy he was acting. He fished his phone from his jeans' pocket and was surprised to see that it was Molly who was calling him. Nevertheless it wasn't an unpleasant surprise.

"Molly?" he tried not to sound excited.

"Hey, Sherlock. I haven't heard from you and John and was actually worry. Are you two okay?" she asked.

"Yeah" Sherlock replied disappointed. "We're both fine, thanks" he surprised himself with his kindness. Usually he would snap a snarky remark at how she had interrupted him but now he realized he didn't really care. He didn't even feel like being his usual rude self. At least not to Molly.

"Good, that's really good. Are you two...? You know".

"What?" Sherlock couldn't help but crack a sly smile even though she couldn't see him.

"Friends" she said. "Are you two friends? Like close friends?"

"Close as always" he toyed with her. He barely kept himself from laughing. He knew exactly what Molly was asking but he quite liked this game. Besides his cruelty towards her was justified because he was incredibly bored and had nothing better to do.

"Well yeah, but... are you two like...?" he knew she was blushing by now.

"In fact, we're closer than ever" he decided to have some mercy and spare her any further embarrassment.

"Oh" she suddenly sounded excited. "So, you two finally talked" she stated.

"We did. And I presume you had something to do with that? Should I say thanks?" he asked mischievously.

"Me? No, not at all. I just talked with John once. Helped him out sort out his feelings a bit. At least I hope I did" she replied nervously.

"I think you did" Sherlock smiled a little and then he added, "thank you".

"... You're welcome" she was blushing again. Then she coughed "Well, that's not the only reason I called".

"Oh?" Sherlock was again very interested.

"Yeah. I've got something you might find interesting. Would you like to come over and have a look at it?"

"What is it?" Sherlock was practically vibrating with excitement like a kid getting a Christmas present.

"It's a dead man's hands. There's something wrong with them. There’s skin underneath his fingernails. I've had samples sent up for DNA analysis, but that will take a few days. There’s a lack of any other type of defensive wounds, so it’s probably his own. Maybe he had an itch right before he died..." Molly smiled at her joke, but Sherlock was sceptical.

"Or...?" Sherlock prompted smiling .

"Or someone helped him die. I could really use your help. The results won't come until next week and until then I'm afraid the case will be closed. There's no evidence that it was a murder but..." she faltered again. "Could you come over and have a look too?"

"I can't leave" Sherlock frowned. "But you could bring the hands over my flat. Baker Street, you know where it is".

"I... I don't know how I could sneak the hands out without anyone noticing" she said timidly.

"Oh Molly, don't underestimate yourself. I have faith in you" he grinned like a loon. "I'm sure you'll come up with something smart. I'll be waiting for you" he hung up not giving her a chance to deny him.

He was finally going to do something interesting. He knew John had told him not to leave Lestrade's apartment without him but that was really ridiculous. He wasn't a little kid and he could take care of himself. Besides, he was only going to his own flat and Garth was no longer a threat so he didn't know who he should be afraid of or why John seemed to be so cautious. There was no immediate danger yet and even if there was, Sherlock could handle everything now that he had John back. He decided to send a text to John because the doctor wanted to always know where Sherlock was, something that the detective found equally annoying as adorable. He didn't like John's over-protectiveness but at the same time he loved the way John cared about him so much.

_Heading to the flat. Gonna meet Molly, see you soon. -SH_

John replied with two single words.

Be careful. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes inwardly but smiled at the screen that lit up almost immediately again.

I'll come there as soon as I'm done here. Love you. 

The brunette smiled like a loon. For the first time in his life he actually understood why people were smiling for no apparent reason at texts or phone calls. He put on his coat and left Lestrade's apartment. Once he was out, he started looking for a taxi. When he saw one, he raised his hand and summoned it. It felt right again. He had missed the thrill of the rush. Right, so it looked like the game was finally back on! And Sherlock could barely contain himself!

***

 

 

 

John felt a bit scared, yet determined. He would fix everything today. He was going to walk in there and confront his wife. No more lies and no more threats. Surely she would see reason. She couldn't take the baby and disappear. She would never do that. She had only said it because she was angry with him. That was understandable. But she would see that if she did that, she would also be punishing the baby and she would never do that. She could obviously see now that their marriage was practically over and there was nothing to be done anymore. He wasn't in love with her anymore, in fact he never really was, at least not the same way he had always loved Sherlock. He cared about her and he always would, she was going to be the mother of his child after all. But other than that he didn't feel anything more about her.

It shouldn't be that hard, really. He would just go in there, sit down with Mary and have a conversation like civilized people. Mary couldn't just take the baby from John, there were laws and John knew that he had Greg and even Mycroft (though God forbid he actually needed his help) at his side. Everything was going to be okay. They both knew that this marriage was over, it was pointless to go on like everything was okay because nothing really was okay. He would just explain this to Mary and she would agree. She had to. It should be simple. He was a bloody soldier, he had been at war, he should be able to handle his own wife, dammit!  

But for some reason he couldn't understand, his feet just wouldn't cooperate with his brain. He just sat there, only a few metres away from his house but he stubbornly refused to approach any further. It was stupid but he felt intimidated. No, he should be strong, he could not back away now. He observed the door of his house as if he were watching it for the first time. It felt like a strange place. Certainly not how home should feel like. Baker Street felt like home. No place without Sherlock could ever feel like home to John.

John observed a bit his neighbourhood. It reminded him a lot of his childhood house. It was a nice neighbourhood but it kind of smelled like mold around the streets. Could be a bit annoying. By then, John had become accustomed to the smell of the mold-infested walls. Nine months of fresh air had washed over them, diminishing the initial hit. Like the smell, so too the images of destruction had stopped hitting him as they had in his first months there, and he had found himself reaching for tired phrases to describe the environment around him. Too much like his childhood, his drunk sister, his sick mother... he shuddered involuntarily.

John smiled to himself. With this familiarity, a lot of the people there had stopped describing well what they were actually seeing and hearing and smelling. So he had began deliberately to note the kind of details he might otherwise have ignored — the color of the warped wallpaper, of stiff clothes and bloated mattresses. Just like Sherlock would have... John had even sketched the shape of the blades of a ceiling fan, hanging downwards like the petals of a drooping flower, the result of gushing water when they had first moved there, before the renovation. It was when he still believed the detective was dead and he did things like that all the time. Without Sherlock and the cases, he was bored out of his mind. But the truth was that he wanted to feel closer to him. It'd always been Sherlock. How John hadn't noticed before, he still couldn't understand.

Almost none of this information made it into his stories on his blog, it was pointless since nothing seemed fascinating anymore, but it became an exercise in looking closely. In that act of looking, John had tripped over details that illuminated the destroyed lives of people he observed. He could write a story on the impact of the storm on children he traversed the city looking for flooded toys. He had found a teddy bear, his fur matted with mud. A headless stuffed rabbit poked out of the rubble of a ruined house. In another heap, he had found a baby doll, her arms raised above her head as if waiting to be picked up. John had filled half a notebook with detailed descriptions of toys and from it distilled a paragraph that became a key section of his story and a metaphor for what the hurricane had done to children’s lives. It had looked like his life back then. It had been a secluded neighbourhood. That's why he had chosen it. He had wanted to be far away from everyone. And Mary had gone with him. Of course now it was better. 

In his notebook, he had made a list of all the things he did from morning to night — and then went through the list with some of the families to see what aspects of their day had changed. Kitchens, like electrical meters, are usually located downstairs. Living upstairs, the families devised NEW ways to cook. They washed their vegetables in the bathtub and cooked dinner on a barbecue stove placed on the second-story balcony. One mother of three had told him that she got tired of making a mess in the bathroom, so she took to washing her dishes in the yard using the garden hose. She combed the local grocery store for ready-to-eat ingredients, like prewashed lettuce and packets of broccoli florets. Soon she switched to paper plates and plastic forks.

John shuddered. That's what he had been doing at first when Sherlock had died. His life had been pointless. He did nothing but things that made no sense to him and that was fine. He didn't really care so long as he was occupied every day and exhausted every night so he didn't have time to think and reminisce. He didn't want to remember his dead friend who was gone forever and would never be back. He had never told him and he would always regret... The things he should have said. Oh, the things he should have realized... He was blind. They both were. But now he knew. That meant that he couldn't lose Sherlock again. Not in a million years. He couldn't even imagine doing the same thing again. To simply exist without actually living. It was the most horrible thing that had ever happened to him and he would never go through it again. He never wanted to even imagine a life without his crazy detective. He had to make things right.

 

He took a deep breath and shook his head a bit reading himself. He was acting ridiculous, he was just going to ask for a divorce. He wouldn't abandon her. It was easy, a lot of children grew up with divorced parents and they were fine. He began walking towards the house (he couldn't even call it his in his own mind for Christ's sake) but he paused startled when he saw the front door opening. He jumped back in shock and his eyes widened ready to jump out of their niches. He stood there still like a statue and watched the tall blond man walking out of his house. He took deep breaths as the man walked past him looking nervous and not glancing his way. His mind was playing games, John thought. This man couldn't be... could he? He looked awfully a lot like the man he had seen back at Baker Street. This... Garth! Who had... no... NO.

There was no way this man was in his house. He turned around and blinked quickly. He brought his hand to wipe his eyes and he looked again. But no matter what he did the man looked still the same. Just like he had looked when John had seen him at the flat with Sherlock... It was him! It had to be him. Either that or John was hallucinating and he knew that wasn't the case. He closed his eyes and tried to remember that day. That very first day that he had seen them fucking on the floor, he hadn't managed to actually see the man on top of Sherlock... _NO! Stop right there, Watson_ his inner voice told him and John winced at the image of them naked on the floor, the thought still too painful. And now that he knew that Sherlock had likely not actually wanted it was making him want to murder the man.

He remembered clearly the day he had first kissed Sherlock and had almost had sex with him if Garth hadn't walked in on them. He remembered his face very clearly. He opened his eyes again and watched the tall man walking until he turned at the corner and he took a better look at his profile again. It was him! There was no doubt in John's mind anymore. Garth... in his house... John still couldn't comprehend the situation. That was undoubtedly the same Garth that had put Sherlock through hell and back all these years. The same man John wanted to strangle with his bare hands, burn and dance around his grave. And he had undoubtedly just walked out of his house. _His_ fucking house. Where _his_ fucking wife would definitely be. So there was one question unanswered; What the hell was going on?

 

***

 

 

 

Sherlock sat in his usual stool using his microscope to examine the hands. Molly sat on a chair next to him, her elbows on the kitchen table, picking at her nails. She did that when she was thinking about something unpleasant. He let her be, focusing on the hands in front of him but honestly it was very distracting when she started sighing loudly. He gave it five minutes and she took a notepad and a pencil, moving on autopilot. Sherlock gritted his teeth. Her thoughts were so chaotic he could almost hear them bashing against his own eardrums. He couldn't take it anymore.

"You're exceptionally distracted, Molly" he stated and did his best to hide his irritation. It was hard but he was trying. John would have been proud!

"Sorry" Molly said and blushed. "I'm focusing now" she promised and Sherlock nodded running a hand through his wild curls, not noticing the way the woman next to him couldn't stop the giddy smile that broke out on her face, feeling her cheeks warm.

 _Stop it,_ she chided herself. You are over Sherlock Holmes. He does not think of you that way. He is so obviously in love with John. Besides, they're together now and she was very happy for God’s sake!

She sighed again loudly. He rolled his eyes and figured he might as well solve the emotional mystery before the case.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked and peeled off his gloves, tossing them to the table. He hid his instinctive flinch as she looked at him in surprise. She was still expecting him to be his former and remote self with her, and old habits die hard. He tried his best to look friendly and interested in her problem but he wasn't sure if he was doing it right. She seemed wary and he mentally cursed himself for not trying harder.

"Um... it's nothing really" she said quietly. Sherlock sighed in annoyance.

"It's obviously something" he sneered and then winced. Not helping, the John in his mind palace told him with a scowl. Now Sherlock was scowling at himself.

"It's just... I feel kinda lonely" she admitted. Sherlock processed it, then winced.

"Lonely" he repeated and then mentally kicked himself. He remembered John and how he loved him and that made him think that Molly once loved him in much the same way. Did she still feel the same way about him? Or maybe she was a little jealous that Sherlock and John were together and she was alone. Not in a bad way.

"You know, you can be kind to people. Stop being rude" she changed the subject.

"Um..." Sherlock was confused.

"No, seriously" she continued. "You keep hiding your real face behind that antisocial mask and one day that mask will be your face. Don't let that happen".

"I..." Sherlock mumbled.

"I mean it, you've become a better man now" she smiled.

"... Thank you" it sounded more like a question. "But you... you said you were lonely".

"Yeah, lonely" she repeated. "I don't really know. I know it's stupid, I mean I have a lot of friends and I was dating someone a couple of days ago but still... I don't feel... you know" she was blushing again.

He knew. He wished he didn't, but he knew. It was the same he used to feel after John's wedding. They were still friends and he still had cases but... he could no longer feel whole... satisfied with anything. What he constantly felt back then, was beyond pain.

"I don't... quite understand" he said apologetically. But he was willing to try.

"Are you willing to listen to me?" she asked in a serious voice and Sherlock nodded.

"Yes" he said.

"Good. Well forgive me, I don't know how to say it... so I'll try with my own words" she paused and then started again. "When they are gone, you will remember every single opportunity you had to speak to them and you didn’t".

And then Sherlock knew. He knew what was going on with Molly and why she looked sad. He was the reason. Molly's feelings about him were the same withn his feelings about John. The epiphany was nothing but painful, compared to his usual ones and for once he wished he was in the dark. To know that he might be the reason that Molly was feeling this way was making his fingers go cold and his heart beating painfully in his chest. He had to know.

"Is it because you're in love with me...?" he asked surprised at how small his voice sounded.

Molly looked at the floor.

"I don't know" she almost whispered. "I guess so... I realized it when I realized that I was looking for you in everyone I met. It was like I was drowning and you were the water but somehow you were also the air that I needed to breathe. How that is, I’ll never understand" she admitted sadly.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked her gently.

"I... I don't think so..."

"It's just the way you looked at me..." he started.

"I know, I know" she interrupted him. "Lust wants whatever it can’t have" she said and chocked back a sob.

"Molly... it's okay... it... it doesn't matter" Sherlock tried to reassure her but obviously it wasn't the right thing to say because Molly's eyes hardened and she looked straight into his piercing blue eyes.

"Maybe it doesn't matter to you. Maybe it won’t matter in thirty years; maybe I won’t even remember your name. But right now, in this very moment, it matters and it freaking hurts – and I’m still trying to be okay with that!" she exploded.

Molly took deep breaths and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop the tears. She tried to get up but Sherlock grabbed her carefully, pulling her to his chest. Hugging her may not be the best idea but he didn't like Molly sad. It was making him sad as well. Sherlock didn't speak as she sobbed softly in his chest and hugged him back. What could he say to her? His heart and soul belonged to someone else. He loved her but not in the same way she did. How could he comfort her? He didn't know what to say so instead he stayed silent, hugging her tighter and just holding her. Maybe she just needed to cry. But Sherlock was mortified to realize that not only he didn't mind hugging Molly, but he also quite liked it. Sherlock rested his head on Molly's head as the smaller woman's tears were easing and she had relaxed her grip on him. He felt warm and strangely happy. It wasn't the same as hugging John but it didn't feel like being close to anyone else. He liked having Molly close to him and that thought suddenly seemed more dangerous than anything else going on in his mind.

Molly lifted her head, wiping at her cheeks. He lifted his hands, wondering what to do. He was lost in this instance. Usually it was easy to be around Molly, work with her in the lab, but now he just didn't know what to do or say. He felt relieved when she tried her best to smile at him.

"Better now?" he dared to ask.

Molly didn't answer, a hand coming to rest on his chest. She seemed to be thinking hard, her face hiding her thoughts from him. Sherlock waited, wondering what she was thinking. He didn't like it when he couldn't read people. Molly let her eyes flow over his face, as if seeing him for the first time. As if she wanted to remember every line, every smooth plane. He was so distracted by the fact he couldn't read her face that he missed the signs.

"You know, the worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. How someone loves us, how they'll never forget our names..."

"Don't worry, I won't ever forget your name" Sherlock said trying to joke. "Or you" he hurried to add.

"If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets" she said to him. "I won't say I'm sorry or that I regret what I'm about to do" she continued softly.

Sherlock frowned. He felt captivated and couldn't tear his eyes off of her face and so he didn't realize what she intended to do until it was too late. Molly kissed him. She simply pressed her lips to his, hands, thin but surprisingly strong, holding his face, body pressed to his, warm and soft and pliant. Her lips were soft and sweet and salt because of the tears. Sherlock gasped, frozen and she took her chance by slipping her tongue to his lips, silently begging for permission. Molly kissing him was so differently than John kissing him that he nearly shut down. He would realize in hindsight that perhaps he should have disentangle himself immediately but all he did was stand there frozen, unresponsive.

 _Move!_ the tiny voice in his head screamed at him. _She's not John, you don't want this. You'll regret this. You don't even like it!_

But he did. God help him, he did like it. And later he hoped he could be forgiven for Molly was his friend after all.

She moved back slowly disappointed and that's when the detective should have been relieved that it was over. But it wasn't.

He surprised her as much as he surprised himself when he didn't let her pull away from him. Instead, he grabbed her waist and pressed their mouths together again, this time opening his own and deepening the kiss. He didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was that the feeling of Molly so close wasn't... unpleasant as he had thought. They explored each other's mouths as her lips moved over his and he let her. Molly gave him a kiss of passion and lust and desire, achingly pure and sweet. He realized he had never kissed a woman like this. Never. Sure, he had kissed a few girls back when he was younger but not even remotely like this. None of them had meant something to him. Not like Molly did. Her kiss had literally no comparison in his experience. Her fingers wove through his hair, and she held her whole body to him. And he? He didn't just sit there and let her kiss him, no. That would have been easily forgiven. He kissed her back. He hugged her tight to him and guiltily responded.

Molly didn't pull away, being thoroughly and rather expertly kissed as any woman could have wished. It was wonderful. Molly's hands slid from Sherlock's neck to his chest and he brought his own higher up her back. They kept kissing like that, Molly trying to deepen the kiss even more and Sherlock following suit and for the first time since forever, the detective forgot to think about John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, fellow Johnlockians don't shout abuse at me! Remember that I am a dedicated Johnlockian too! But I can't help it, I kind of find cute the whole relationship that Sherlock and Molly have. I won't say where this will lead. You'll just have to wait and see what happens next! Hehe John saw Garh, he's starting to put the pieces together, are you all excited? I hope I'll update soon!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry that this took as long as it did. School got the BEST of me. I'm also sorry that the story doesn't move quite as far ahead as I would have liked, but I was satisfied with this and wanted to give you some new material. Sherlock finally begins to unravel this "case"...

The afternoon light was grey, and dreadful, invoking a depressive atmosphere across the city. The sky was low and dark. The thick clouds, grey as the stone they pulled from the quarry, gave the monochromatic world outside a claustrophobic feel. By this time of day the birds should have been singing and the horizon tinged with reds and pinks, oranges sometimes. But the weather wasaccountable to no-one and above the frenetic city hubbub, the honking taxis and swarms of pedestrians marching on their own personal missions the sky was comparatively in slow motion. But this juxtaposition was lost on the citizens. No-one even looked up. And so the sky above, as pretty as any million-dollar painting slowly darkened to a stormy grey, never quite black due to light pollution from below. It matched the mood of a certain consulting detective. The sky never failed to amaze Sherlock, filled with mysteries and endless amounts of space. Over flowing with wonders, yet so much space, so void. The sky was ever-changing, its various colors of navy blue, black, lavender, robin’s egg blue, turquoise, and a fiery tangerine painting the dome above everyone. Sometimes the clouds were puffy and tall, other times they were no more than mere wisps, dashed across the sky by some divine paintbrush. Sometimes twinkling stars dangled from the heavens, sometimes the luminescent, white moon, and other times the blindingly radiant sun.

Right now, Sherlock felt extremely weak. His muscles felt like jelly but he could move them just fine. No, that wasn't the problem. This was a very new, a very strange feeling as the weakness was no physical like the ones he was used to. He didn't know what to do. His brain had shut down and he felt like a mindless creature that could only obey, unable to react. His body moved on its own accord, completely uncoordinated with his brain and he could barely feel the smaller frame pressed against his own. Nothing feltreal. It was as if he was living in a dream, just an observer, watching what was happening to someone else's body. Silently observing but not interfering. Not objecting but not quite giving his permission either.

The the unbroken dense clouds above the houses had darkened to gun metal grey oozed and billowed across the barely visible sun, casting the city into a shadowy darkness. The air was thick with moisture. A jagged bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half. The wind became stronger, almost violent and thunders rolled across the sky, seeming to crack the world in half and reveal the fury of the gods. Then the rain set in, not with a slow build up but all at once, a wall of water ...the storm broke. The rain fell like an ocean thrown from the sky. It crashed into the town, splattered off the sidewalks, and formed instant rivers that raced along the gutters and overwhelmed the drains, an avalanche of water that threatened to drown the world. The ground that was dry moments ago was awash, the wind stole into the poor pedestrians as if they were naked. Before five minutes have passed nobody could see anyone else in the streets. Another lightning reverberated around the city, eerilyechoing what the skies promised to bestow as Sherlock finally woke from his slumber and his brain started working again. It was exactly as if waking up from a dream and he felt a numbing coldness gripping his heart.

It was only then when he realized that his shirt had been ripped off and he was standing pressed to Molly with a naked chest. His mouth closed automatically and he stiffened. She must have sensed it because she slowly pulled back, her eyes dizzy and she blinked slowly. The detective gently caught her arms that were resting on his chest and he pulled away. 

"Molly" he whispered. He sounded hoarse. He didn't like the sound of his voice.

She didn't speak. She just looked deep into his eyes and nodded. Then, she took a step back, crossing her hands on her chest. She took a moment to compose herself. Her lips were swollen, and Sherlock was convinced his were too, and her skin was flushed pink. She didn't look upset or confused like Sherlock felt. She hadn't even look angrily at him. She just took a deep breath and raised her head again to meet his eyes. Hazel brown eyes met blue green ones and she cast him a small smile.

"It's okay" she said. "I know."

"I'm sorry" Sherlock said and looked at the floor.

"Don't be" Molly replied. "I'm not."

"I didn't... I can't..." Sherlock struggled with words until he could find the right ones until he realized that there were no right words to say in a situation like this one. Was it his fault? Did this mean that he had initiated it? He hadn't pulled back. Did that mean that he had cheated on John? _John_... Sherlock almost whimpered at the thought of what he had done, of what he could have done, but caught himself before he actually sobbed in front of her. No, he would save himself at least this embarrassment.  
_Oh, John... What did I do?_

"Shh, I know" Molly sighed.

"What?" Sherlock asked exasperated. "What is it that you know but I don't? I am so confused, I've never been like this before. I don't understand anything" he pulled his hair slightly.

"You love me" she said simply and shrugged.

"I... do?" it came as a question.

"Yeah, you do" she chuckled at the confused way Sherlock blinked at her, like a child not understand what he was being told. "You don't get it, do you?" she asked.

Sherlock shook his head.

"I really don't understand anything, Molly" he confessed, half plea, half whine, full of misery.

"What's got you so confused, Sherlock" Molly asked feeling guilty that she had caused Sherlock such pain.

Sherlock shook his head. He loved John, that much he knew. Loved him to the exclusion of all others. But he also knew that he cared for Molly, more than he cared about anyone else who wasn't John, Mrs. Hudson or family. He had once called what he felt for her love, because he knew of no other word to name the emotion she generated in him. Sherlock was at loss, pure and simple, and had no idea what to do about it. He didn't know what to do with what he was feeling and it was bothering him to no ends.

"I kissed you" he growled.

"No. I kissed you."

"Okay, you kissed me first. But I kissed you back and that makes it just as bad as if I had kissed you first" Sherlock whined again, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I didn't... not like it" he whispered.

Molly simply stared at him until he sighed loudly.

"Normally, I don't like people being close to me. I don't like being touched by anyone but John. But... you were near me and I... I didn't really mind and then this happened... I think I liked it" he said timidly, almost horrified.

"Well, that's okay. We care about each other and we're friends. Of course you liked it."

"But I love John!" Sherlock said, the force of his words making Molly jump, before she forced herself to relax.

"I know you do" she answered honestly. "I think I've always known. And I know that he loves you too."

"But you said I love you and I haven't yet denied it!" he nearly screamed. "How can I love you, and kiss you, and like it, and love John, all at the same time?" the detective was now babbling, and Molly took one moment to unravel the question. Sherlock was a tumbled mess of fear, confusion and nerves. It was up to Molly to set him right and that kinda scared her. It was terrifying how the man looked like he totally depended on her answer. She had never seen Sherlock looking so lost and vulnerable, easily taken advantage of. But Molly truly cared about Sherlock and she would never manipulate him into anything. Besides, she already knew the truth, had known it for a very long time.

"You love John and you kiss him. But I kissed you and you liked it, and you're worried that you're in love with me too?" she asked carefully.

"I... Yes" Sherlock sighed deeply, finally relaxing a little bit. He put his shirt back on and sat down at his chair. Molly sat at the one opposite, without knowing it was John's chair. But Sherlock mentally winced at the implication that Molly was now taking John's place... But no. Not in Sherlock's heart. That would never happen.

"Are you in love with John, Sherlock" Molly asked, keeping it simple.

"Yes" Sherlock replied immediately. He didn't have to think about it.

Molly smiled at him.

"Okay then, we're going to have a small test... oh don't give me that look, I'm not gonna do anything. I just want you to do something for me" she laughed at the terrified look that Sherlock had on his face.

"Okay" he agreed.

"Close your eyes" she waited until Sherlock did so. "Now I want you, Sherlock Holmes, probably the most analytical person on this world, to go over every single thing you know and feel about John in your head. Go through every instant of your lives together at Baker Street. Before and after you... you jumped" she said. "Think about what it all makes you feel. Take your time and think."

Molly waited and watched as Sherlock did exactly that. She could tell when Sherlock thought about his first meeting with John and that day on the roof... All the emotions raced across Sherlock's face. She had to wipe a tear from her eyes as she clearly saw the sacrifice Sherlock had to make in order to save John. And Molly knew without any doubt in her heart and soul that this man in front of her was truly a hero, and the truest kind. The kind that shrugged off the title, never took anycredits and kept going on no matter what.  
She saw the sadness and rejection as John had first punched him and didn't want to see him and she felt incredibly sad. Then it was happiness. He had saved John and they were running off to danger once again together. After that, John's wedding followed and Molly had to bite her lip. She winced since Sherlock's face was wincing in pain, regret, devastation, loneliness, and even desperation... It was obvious what the man had to suffer, being John'sbest man and all and Molly felt tremendously sorry for him. But then there was a smile as he probably remembered when John admitted his feelings for him and they were back together. That expression Sherlock wore now must have been the happiest one Molly had ever seen in her life. That must have been the day John returned to him. So she waited and she was very thankful and deeply moved when Sherlock got to his return.

She met his heavenly eyes and raised a finger to silence him.

"No talking. Just listen. I want you to hold onto the feeling you have right now, the one for him and compare it, in depth, to what you feel for me. Close your eyes and think. Tell me when you're done" she said.

Sherlock did as he was told. The time Sherlock was away in his mind palace was significantly shorter this time, the emotions not nearly as intense. Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes once again, looking at Molly somewhat apologetically. He had seen the truth now and was much calmer than he'd been a couple of minutes ago. Molly looked at her watch and was surprised to see that they were sitting there like this for nearly an hour. She turned her eyes back to Sherlock's and smiled.

"You done?" she asked.

"Done" the detective confirmed with a slight smile on his own lips.

"Now tell me what you've just learned" Molly said sweetly. "Don't feel sorry, just tell me the truth, I already know it anyway. Don't know why you needed a confirmation."

"I love you, Molly" Sherlock replied truthfully and with no hesitation. "But not the way I love John. You're a friend, a very good one, maybe one of the best... but nothing more. Your kiss was really nice and I've come to realize that I truly care about you. I wouldn't have felt anything if you were a stranger, or someone I had an aversion to" Sherlock stated, confident in his reasoning. "But I don't want you, I want John. I love you whereas I'm in love with him. Deeply, irreversibly, forever engraved across my psyche in love with John. He... he completes me, tears me down and rebuilds me. Without him, I simply cease to exist."

Molly nodded. She was honestly happy they had settled this. She would never have forgiven herself if Sherlock and John had broken up. Even if the stars and moon collide, these two ought to be together. They were a force of nature. Made to be together. They should never be separated. The universe would be burned to ashes before that happened.

"Thank you" Sherlock told her and grabbed his coat from the couch. He quickly put it on and run to the stairs.

"Where are you going? It's still raining outside!" she screamed at him.

"I know. I need to be out, in the rain. It's always calmed me, it'll only be a minute" he screamed back and run happily down the stairs.

He felt much lighter than before, a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He feltfree as he got out of the flat and closed the door behind him. The sky was still dark, maybe from the earlier storm or because it was nighttime, and the winds howled through the streets of London, driving the rain before it, stinging and frigid as it pummeled the detective. Sherlock bore up under the elements, not at all bothered by the raindrops. He ignored the droplets falling, eyes on the streets in front of him as he took deep, greedy breaths of the wet soil. A chil wind was blowing, driving the fresh rain down the nape of his neck, under his coat collar. He felt the cold, of course he did, but he dismissed it rather quickly, unbothered by it. It was just water and cold air, precipitation and weather. Nothing he could change, nor would he if he could.

He was enjoying this particular feeling of freedom and happiness that he didn't notice a noise behind him. He turned around and practically jumped when he saw the man standing only a few inches away. He sighed in relief as he tried to calm his nerves. He tried to explain to his body that the man was no danger but for some reason he can't help but feel tense. He doesn't look right, something's wrong, he can tell. He always could.

"Garth?" Sherlock asked uncertain. What was he doing here? Had something happened? It couldn't be anything good, going by the look on the taller man's face.

The night had robbed them of the daytime colours. Ahead of Sherlock, Garth was no more than a silhouette, the detective had only his fluid black out-line from which to guess his emotions. Right now he wasn't relaxed, and that could only mean bad things. It meant that whatever was going on in his head was unlikely to be anything pleasant and the brunet shuddered. Tension usually meant bad ideas, bad ideas meant unpredictable behaviours and that meant that Sherlock might not be in position to control him. He looked positively drunk and that was never a good sign either. He took a step back. One day he would have to stop playing indefence but for now it was the only card he had left to play.

"Sherlock" Garth's voice was hoarse. He sounded dizzy. Sherlock didn't like it.

In the past, Sherlock had felt many times as if Garth's shadow trailed him, hushed as the night, dancing between the trees as the sunlight would flicker. Usually it would melt into darkness with the arrival of dusk, until it would blend and disappear against the backdrop of nothingness. But it always remained, only neglected. Like the stars during the day – overpowered by the pouring rays of sunlight – but yet still there. As night after night whisked away it would always join Sherlock once more, hailing like an old friend. It would mirror his actions, as though looking up to him,surveying and admiring his every move. An immaculate outline of the detective's fine shape, an echo of his movements, a lifetime companion, it shadows him; a shadow of an old friend.

But now it was different. Now it wasn't just a shadow terrorising and taunting him. Now it was thereal person, with flesh and blood and Sherlock felt weaker than ever. He didn't know why, Garth was no longer a danger, but he couldn't stop his body from shaking slightly. He hated this momentary exposition of weakness but his muscles wouldn't help him as he tried to calm himself again. Yes, he was alone and yes, Garth was drunk but he was only a step away from his flat for God's sake! Molly would be probably watching them from the window. No reason to worry. The man probably wanted something, a favor or he had some bad news. A chill run up to his spine and he shuddered involuntarily.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound afraid. It was always a big mistake to show Garth you were scared.

And then out of the streets' shadows stepped Garth's form. Sherlock had recognised him from the looping strides that almost look like a moon-walk. But now he could clearly see him, and the reddened eyes he faced didn't surprise him at all. The taller man shook his head and didn't speak. Somehow, the detective thought the gravity had been turned down only around Garth as the muscuar man approached. Sherlock tried to keep himself from shuddering again, he really didn't like the fact that the man's gait was a source of such terror. For all his casualness, Garth looked so much like a dangerous mugger, that Sherlock couldn't help himself but smile. He had once loved this gait of his, had even seemed funny to him. He'd never lash out, only made a self-deprecating joke, but he remembered the anger in the blond's eyes. He could see the man clenching his fists now and he nearly whimpered at how familiar it seemed to him. It wasn't a good thing and the brunette swallowed hard, taking deep breaths.

Garth was breathing loudly and he was far too clumsy to be sober. He also looked too thin and gaunt. Sherlock looked nervously around. He was certain that Mycroft had some CTV cameras around his flat. How the man had evaded the security, Sherlock wasn't quite sure. His eyes were the same but his skin was more reddened, more deeply wrinkled too. How was it possible that this was the same man Sherlock had seen only about a week ago? There was a seriousness about him that unnerved the brunette and he felt trapped even though he knew he wasn't. He watched Garth silently approaching him, mentally preparing himself for an attack. But all Garth did was walk up until he was right in front of Sherlock, almost touching him, and he stopped. He nodded once and then turned around and slowly retreated into the blackness he'd come from. Sherlock was astonished to say the least. He should now be alarmed, walk right back to the security of his flat, call John or Greg, but his curiosity got the better of him like it had so many times before. He wanted to know what he was doing here. If Mycroft had seen him, he would most likely send anarmy on his door to decapitate him. Why he had risked his life to come there? He obviously had something important to say to Sherlock. 

The consulting detective closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then looked towards his flat, expecting to see Molly's figure lingering in the dark but he didn't. Molly was nowhere to be seen. He gulped, not knowing what to expect. He turned his eyes to the man standing now far too close to him for his liking.

"Sherlock..." the other whispered.

Sherlock didn't like the sound of Garth's voice. He didn't sound drunk as he expected. He didn't even sound angry. His voice was thin and wavery and he sounded scared more than anything and the mere sight terrified the detective. What could have possibly caused Garth's fear? And what was he doing here...? Was he even safe? The brunette swallowed hard and blinked fast. It was all he could do in order to keep himself from bolting. He tried to supress his body's treacherous tremors. It wouldn't do him any good if the other was here to attack and realized he was scared. Sherlock was honestly terrified. He didn't have an actual reason but his past experience with the blond man made him more than a little wary.

"What's the matter, Garth?" the consulting detetive sounded calmer than he felt.

He watched carefully as the other man wetted his lips and took a deep breath.

"I... you... you have to come with me, Sherlock" he finally said.

"What?" Sherlock croaked. He was confused. What was that supposed to mean? Surely Garth wouldn't just kidnap him, right? Not in front of his house. And he would definitely not ask him to simply follow him and expect Sherlock to comply.

"You need to come with me" Garth repeated, a bit louder this time.

"Where?" the brunette asked.

Garth shook his head.

"Just come with me, Sherlock. Please, don't make a fuss now, just follow me" he nearly pleaded.

Sherlock felt his knees going weak. What was that now? His breaths came out faster. He was panicking.

"Why?" he managed to ask.

"I... I have to. I have to take you with me" Garth replied. "Just come with me and I won't have to force you. I won't hurt you, Sherlock. I promise. But you must come with me and don't make any noise."

Sherlock slowly grew angrier.

"I'm not going anywhere" he said clearly and loudly.

"Sher... please?" he asked again.

"I... this is nonsense! Where are you going to take me? Why should I follow you? I don't wanna go anywhere with you!" he screamed and took a step back.

Garth sighed and pulled his gun, pointing it at Sherlock.

"Don't make me hurt you" he barely whispered.

"You wouldn't dare" he hissed.

"I would" Garth said gently. "I don't want to, but I have to. I would. I would shoot you and then go to your flat and shoot that sweet girlfriend of yours. I wouldn't want it but I'd be forced to do it so... please don't make me a murderer" he asked.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this.

"Garth... don't..." was all he could manage.

Garth stepped forward those last few steps until the gun was pressed against the detective's chest. Sherlock took a sharp breath and stood still, hands made into fists. Garth could tell how much the brunette wanted to push him away. The blond slid his hand up Sherlock's arm, guiltily thrilled at the way the man shivered, anger and disgust at his touch so obvious on his face. He slowly put his hand behind Sherlock's head and stepped into him, his body pressed tightly into the detective's, no space for air between them. Garth's shoulders were strong and he was all muscles. He dipped his head against the brunette's lips.

"Come with me, Sherlock. The game is over" he said sadly.

Then he pulled back and tugged on his hand. Sherlock followed slowly. He was frozen, he couldn't scream and he knew that if he fought it would only make it worse. He closed his eyes and thought of John, his doctor giving him some strength in order to keep from passing out right then and there.

"What are you gonna do?" the detective asked.

"I'm not gonna hurt you" was all the other man said and kept pulling Sherlock.

Garth took them both a few blokes away where a black car awaited for them. Sherlock waiting until Garth walked around the car to open the door for him.

"Get in" he said and pushed Sherlock lightly. Then he went to the driver's seat.

Sherlock sighed knowing that he had no choice and so he followed and slid in next to him in the passenger seat. As soon as he closed the door, Garth began driving.  
"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked again nervously.

"Somewhere far away" Garth replied.

"I don't understand. What do you think you're doing?"

"I've just told you, I'm taking you away" Garth mumbled.

"Why, dammit! Tell me why" Sherlock snapped.

"I have to" Garth said. "I'm sorry. I'm just following orders" he breathed heavily.

"Orders?" Sherlock asked shaking his head. "What orders? Whose orders?" he was panicking again.

"Sherlock, please. Stop asking questions you know I can't answer. I told you I'm not gonna hurt you, I just have to take you away from here for a little while."

Sherlock froze, his breath hitched.

"A little while?" he shivered. "What do you mean?" Sherlok waited but the other man offered no reply. "This is insane! Why do you have to take me away?" he growled.

"It's really complicated" Garth spoke quietly.

Both men stayed quiet after that. Sherlock was trying to remain calm and keep his breaths even. He didn't like being so close to this man. He felt trapped and threatened. He wanted John. God, he already missed the man, he needed him to come and save him. Normaly he wouldn't like any kind of help from anyone but right now he was mentally begging for someone, anyone to come and save him. John, Lestrade... even bloody Mycroft! Where was this bastard when he really needed him? Hell... he was in big trouble, that much he knew. He felt completely powerless against Garth. It was irrational, he knew, but he couldn't help it. How he wanted to be back at 221B with his doctor cuddling or watching TV or even having dinner.

And then he remembered Molly. Was she still at his flat? Probably. Was she worried? Definitely. Had she seen anything? Unlikely. She would have screamed or done anything to prevent this strange man from taking him. Especially after what had happened... Molly had kissed him. No, _he_ had kissed Molly. He was so confused. He knew that he loved John, it was obvious. But how had he done that? Was that considered cheating? Should he tell John? Would John be mad at him and leave him? No. The good doctor was far too good to do that and he would forgive him even if Sherlock wasn't so sure he deserved forgiveness... Would he ever seen John again?

"Do you remember when I told you that you should leave John?"

Sherlock's attention snapped back at the man driving the car.

"Yes" he said shortly. "Is this about her? Was she the one who ordered you to take me away?"

There was silence again. And then a small voice replied.

"Yes."

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed loudly through his nose. He had to remain calm, he couldn't panic now. John was probably in danger and that was more important than anything. He forced himself to look at Garth and he spoke determined.

"Who is she?"

"You know I can't tell you" Garth answered.

"Yes you can" Sherlock insisted. "I can help you. I can help you hide, make you disappear. Whatever it is you want, I can help you. You know who I am. You know who my brother is."

Garth thought about it for a while and then shook his head again.

"I'm sorry" he managed to say.

Sherlock groaned in exasperation. He had to find out who this mystery woman was. She had been after him for some reason, and she knew enough about his life to know about Garth. None knew about Garth except from him and his brother. Someone had looked into his past life and had gone through enough trouble to bring back Sherlock's one and only nightmare and apparently that same someone had their eyes on John, since she wanted to break them up. He felt a shiver running down his spine. He had to find out who she was and if she was threatening John. He could put up with many things and he had tolerated a lot from Gath but not when his loved one was in danger. That was a line that could not be crossed as long as Sherlock was concerned. Sherlock felt really desperate.

"Tell me" he pressed. "Please, Garth, for the love of God you have to tell me. John might be in danger. I'm begging you, I have to know. Please" he screamed. He was openly begging and nearly crying now but he didn't care. Anything to keep John safe. Garth eyed him carefully.

"All I can tell you is that she won't hurt him" he simply told him in a cold voice.

"How can you possibly know that?" the detective exploded. "She could be an obsessed person for all that you know. You say she's making you do this. She must have done some pretty good research on me if she knew about you. Who would do that? Who would care about me and John so much to do that? To bring you back and..." his voice broke.  
Garth closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Sherlock like this. But he could still hear him trying to shuffle his sobs. That was his punishment now. To watch this man suffer like this because of him.

"Why won't you tell me?" Sherlock cried and the blond shrugged.

"I'm afraid of her more than I'm afraid of you" he said simply.

"Then give me a bloody clue. Something. Anything!" he screamed again but went ignored.

None spoke again for several minutes. Garth had opened the windows and was driving faster now. Probably because it was dark by now.

"Garth" he whispered brokenly causing the other man to look at him in worry.

"What is it, kitten?" he asked.

Sherlock shivered but ignored it.

"Please" he begged again. "Just tell me how can you be so sure that she won't hurt John?"

The other man sighed. Sherlock was ready to beg again when Garth beat him to it and spoke.

"Because I think she loves him. And she has something of his. She wouldn't kill him even if she wanted to", he murmred.

"But this doesn't make any sense. How can she have anything of John's that's so important? That would mean that John knew her and probably trusted her and you say she loves him so..." Sherlock stopped, nearly shut down. A gasp escaped his lips. No... it was simply not possible. It couldn't be. But... _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains however improbable, must be the truth._ So could it be...? "Mary..." he breathed. "Is it her?"

Garth looked at him.

"I told you, I don't know her real name. But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Sherlock ignored him. He felt as if he couldn't breathe anymore. It all made sense now. A woman who loved John but was also close enough to Sherlock. Someone who obviously wouldn't want them together. But... an assassin? Sherlock hadn't seen that one coming. He had to go back. He had to do something, Mary was pregnant... and then he stopped again. John! He couldn't tell John. Mary had threatened to take the baby away. But if John who she was, what she was capable of, then he'd be terrified. He would leave him for sure, he would do anything she asked him for fear of her hurting the baby somehow. It was logical and he knew that it was the right thing for John to do. But he'd leave him... He wouldn't be able to handle that. It wouldn't be John's fault of course but he would still break without him. There was nothing he could do.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember John. Good, sweet, always caring John, entering the flat and scowling.

_"These are either the mashed potatoes you made last month or we should leave the flat immediately and call the biological hazards squad!"_

The thought brought a smile as well as tears in his eyes.

He stared numbly at the sky. In the darkness the whole world could have blown away in a freak storm. Sherlock was looking outside the window and could smell the earth as if it was wiped clean, as if all the plant life was gone. His eyes were looking at the ground intently the only reason he knew it was still there. Everything else had dissolved like it was never there at all, like the universe hadn't even begun, or perhaps it never did. In the darkness, as Sherlock contemplated the idea about his best friend, his wife and their baby, he couldn't get a sense that anything was important at all – life, death, pain. And suddenly he could no longer stand the dark sky. He wanted the dawn to come and kiss the land and remind this fickle heart that he was not the only one there - that there was a whole planet of other sentient beings who lived and loved and suffered. And he was loved, he knew he was even though he felt more lovely than ever. For now all he had was this starless sky he was looking at. Even the moon didn't shine tonight, as if it realized Sherlock's pained epiphany. He briefly wondered if John was looking at the sky right now and if he was thinking about him. He knew that if he told John, he would be too scared to go against Mary for fear of their child and he would most likely leave Sherlock. The thought made the detective want to vomit and then curl up.

The future was now an unwalkable road. Even if Sherlock tried, it would be a journey into a land devoid of hope. It was one thing to look back and realize you were in darkness, it was quite another to look ahead and realise your days in the sun are numbered. Sherlock had always been one to reward those best at manipulation but now that he was on the other side, he realized how wrong he had been. He couldn't see a way out of this mess. He felt as if he could see the end but had no desire to fight it, as the ground beneath his feet crumbled, sending him spinning into a dystopian nightmare that he could never wake from. For him, despair used to be an emotion for the elderly and frail. Now it was as ubiquitous as the polluted air and rivers of London.

It was torture. There was no other word to descrbe what he felt. This despair felt like a heady blackness; the ways forward he had ever though possible, had now vanished to black, not blocked, but like they were never there at all in the first place. Sherlock felt trapped. The notion of hope had become meaningless. And if the detective's mind had once even lingered on such ideas, they now started to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as any desert mirage. The bonds he had, the ones that kept his fragile heart beating, felt thinner than ever and they were a terrible weight. He wouldn't be able to be with John. Garth would keep him away until Mary gave birth to the baby and then what? John would probably hate him for leaving. Or he would have forgotten all about him, being so thrilled about his new family... Sherlock could practically hear his brother's words from when they were little:

_"To love is to care for their futures and for them to care for mine - yet what is to come will bring no comfort to any, least of all for us "disposable people" on the cheap side of town."_

He had told him a million times that caring was not an advantage but he hadn't listened. He had goe and fallen in love twice and this is what had happened. He felt like his life wsa over. It would be. A life without John was no life at all. He didn't want this kind of life. He tried to be strong, showing no weakness to the man next to him. Only when Garth stopped the car to take a piss, did Sherlock allow his desperation to overwhelm him and started crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, comment if you liked. I love reading your opinions. Sorry for the mistakes, I'll update as soon as possible. Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm new here and this is my first fic ever so I'm terribly sorry for any mistakes. I'm not from England or US so please be considerate and let me know about any grammatical mistakes. Don't hate, you don't like, don't read. I'll try to update as soon as possible. Comments are always welcome as long as they're not offensive. BTW this first chapter is a bit not good but I'm hellish at introductions. I promise the future chapters will be better and longer.


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